


Link

by Lyetta



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Mating Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22075642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyetta/pseuds/Lyetta
Summary: What if the mating bond snapped into place earlier, while they were still trapped Under the Mountain?What if Feyre froze during the second task - would Rhys have stepped in to save her?
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Comments: 171
Kudos: 424





	1. Second Task

**Author's Note:**

> I know I know, I have other stories to be working on. I just had to get this out of my head.

**Rhys**

What have I done?

Feyre's white face and thin body calls out to me. To fetch her from below the still-glowing grate and take her away - to the Night Court, the human realm, the Spring Court even. _Anywhere_ , just not here.

Amarantha is screaming behind me, demanding to know what just happened. She directs her anger at the Autumn Court, but they are just as confused as she is. Just as confused as everyone. Except me.

Out of the corner of my eye I see her turn towards me, as I had known she would, and I hold my face in the amused smirk she expects from me. _Death and chaos, of course the High Lord of Night finds this funny._

"Hold his mind," she snaps, never suspecting that I might already _have_ his mind; that I have had it in my grip throughout this whole charade.

I step forward, casual, hands in my pockets. To all the room I am amused at best and disinterested at worst. With every step, my plan takes shape. Yes, I admit, a plan _would_ have been helpful from the start. I’m doing my best.

"He wants to speak, my lady." I force the red haired man to turn, suppressing his fear and making him look up into Amarantha’s face with only a minor flinch, something he could never have done without my ‘help’.

From within his mind, I suppress _more_ than just his terror and confusion: I push back everything that made him-

I don't even know his _name_.

Shame and guilt battle for my attention. But I manage my own emotions in much the same way as I'm managing his – I push away everything that isn’t necessary for this moment.

"Then speak."

I feel an icy fingernail down my spine. Her anger may not be heading my way, not yet at least, but she is close to losing control and that _must not happen_ , for Feyre’s sake.

"I serve the lady of the Autumn Court," I speak with his tongue, checking my story against his memories as we go. I cannot allow anyone to find holes or to question what we say in this moment – it must be perfect, believable. Like a sponge cake of lies studded with the occasional current of truth, just enough to make it palatable.

"I knew what losing her youngest child would do to her. I could not let some human _scum_ fail to save him." I throw in more of the human-hating abuse, to take the heat away from Feyre. Finally, I make him mumble, "I apologise for ruining your second task."

Amarantha's lip curls into a snarl. She has bought my story; I've won. I feel intense relief but keep it hidden, I’m only half way there - she may still punish Feyre for my actions.

I risk a look at _her_ face and my mind erupts once again in a chorus of _mymatemymatemymate_ and the shock hits me once again. I hastily look away.

Of course, I _had_ wondered, especially since Fire Night. _Hoped_ even. To have a mate, any mate, would be a gift. But to be _Feyre’s_ mate… Happiness is a warm balloon in my chest, waiting to be popped. Because to find out now - _here_ , while she is trapped as Amarantha's plaything, close enough to scent but forever out of reach, makes this place a new kind of hell.

Amarantha takes her revenge, slowly, painfully and publicly. And although I shield the pain from this innocent who I picked out as scapegoat, I don't shield it from myself.

The shame is back and worse than before. How many others in this room would I sacrifice for my mate? The answer frightens me.

There is no one here I wouldn't kill to keep her safe.

**Feyre**

What just happened?

The second task was a blur. A blur of red - hair, heat and blood.

I cannot make my body still. When I focus on calming my legs, gripping my knees together, it just makes my elbows and shoulders begin to quake all the more.

I close my eyes and see the male fae who jumped into the pit with me, burning himself on the way down. In my memory I see him reach for the lever before anyone can stop him.

He ended the task. And thanks to any God who will listen, because I had frozen. We were dead, Lucien and I. Cause of death? Illiterate fear. I never ranked reading as high up on the list of survival skills, well the joke is certainly on me now.

Neither Lucien or myself said anything more. I _couldn’t_ have spoken, Amarantha herself could not have made words come from my mouth. But that male fae - young, at least by High Fae standards - he told Amarantha everything. He had done it to save Lucien, sacrificed himself for the sake of Lucien's mother.

Rhysand broke into his mind and made him talk. I felt his shadow fall across me as he stood at the lip of the pit, but I never looked up. Instead I bent my head, in shame.

I know that Rhysand tried to guide me. I felt his presence in my mind at the start of the task. He must have realised, from his visits into my mind, that I can't read, but his help came too late, I had shut down. Yes, I felt him reach out, yet only a vague sense of _him_ got through.

I could hear Lucien screaming. I could feel the approaching heat. I did nothing to save us. And through my inaction, I doomed another - and I don't even know his name.

Now back in my cell, I acknowledge how lucky I am to be alive. I did nothing to earn or deserve this stay of execution, but here I am anyway. I am covered in Autumn Court blood, both literally and figuratively. That male gave his life for mine, even if he did so while hating all 'human scum'.

Amarantha pulled him apart as he stood beside me, one limb at a time. I felt his still warm blood cool against my skin. Now dry, it has begun to crack and flake away as I move. I feel almost ungrateful as I brush it off my face.

Huddling against the stone wall, I wait for exhaustion to take me.

**Rhys**

Why am I here?

The risk of being found near Feyre tonight is huge. Both personally and to her safety.

We had a narrow escape today but Amarantha feels she is owed a task; I will make it my task to persuade her otherwise.

So it has become increasingly important that I am not seen to be interested in Feyre. I made myself visible during her fight against the wyrm but the game has since changed. Then, I had wanted Feyre to know that she was not alone as she fought for our freedom from Amarantha. Now, as _my mate_ , it is not enough that she does not feel forgotten. I want her to know that I will stand with her, _die with her_ , if she needs me to.

Logic tells me to turn back, why am I putting everything at risk by approaching her cell in the middle of the night? The party tonight was aborted early, just as Feyre's task had been. But plenty of fae are still around and they are always looking for a way to buy favor with Amarantha.

But: _the mating bond_.

I had felt the mating bond snap into place during the second task. Though I know she felt nothing but terror at the time, I wonder if now, away from the crowds and threat of death, she might feel it too... and I have to know.

It is normal for one half of a mated pair, often a male, to feel the bond earlier but the second is usually not far behind. At least, in the cases I know of… Maybe this is simply wishful thinking on my part. If she could feel the bond and accept it, accept _me_ , then maybe anything is possible.

Yet why would Feyre accept me when she has come Under the Mountain for Tamlin?

I'm close enough the feel her now, though in truth I've been tuned into her emotions ever since the attor brought her before Amarantha's Court. She is thinking of the male whose life I gave to save hers. She feels guilt, even though it wasn't within her control.

The intensity of her thoughts and feelings dims slightly, as she balances on the edge of sleep. This is my moment. I step into sight and it feels how I imagine an ash dagger to the heart would feel.

_mymatemymatemymate_

Curled around her bent knees and leaning against the cold stone wall.

_mymatemymatemymate_

I want to scoop her into my arms and hold her till she feels safe and warm.

 _Could_ she feel safe in my arms? Even if she felt the bond right now, she wouldn't _know_ me, only what she has seen of me - the Lord of Nightmares. Why would she _ever_ want that?

Feyre is not quite asleep, her dry lips move as she speaks softly to herself. I enter her cell and slide down the wall to sit as close as I dare. When she looks at me, with hollow eyes and a tense expression of mistrust, I don't need to enter her mind to know that for her the bond is still unknown.

Disappointment sits heavy in my gut. Even having told myself she wouldn't want me, would never choose me, I still wish that this feeling wasn't mine alone.

"What are you doing here?"

I tip my lips upwards into a smile that tastes of ash. "Always such a wonderful hostess, Feyre darling."

She stares at me blankly and I feel only a dull pain down the bond from her. It worries me, this lack of fight. I test the bond, pushing a thought directly into her head. _How are you doing?_

I see confusion but she is a fast learner and though it is slightly clumsy, she succeeds in pushing back an answer. _How do you think I'm doing? And why are you talking into my head?_

 _Talking this way could come in handy sometime. Today for example._ I send her an image of the riddle and I know she understands.

_You tried to help me._

We're on shaky ground here; I'm not sure if she is ready to talk about what has happened and I'm even less sure that I trust myself not to tell her everything. So I say nothing. I can feel her staring at me as I pick off dirt from my trousers - some real, some imaginary.

"Look at me," she says it aloud, her voice hoarse. I do as she asks. I would obey her every command, if only she knew.

_mymatemymatemymate_

Her eyes snap from mine, to beyond the cell door and back to me. When she speaks again it is directly into my mind. I don't think I will ever get used to the sound of her voice in my head.

_Why are you trying to help me?_

I consider my answer carefully, just as carefully as I consider her. There are scrapes and cuts on her forehead. She has tried to wipe her face but without a mirror she has missed the dried blood on her jaw and neck. Someone else's blood.

I feel the need for some honesty.

_Because you matter; we need you. I need you. You're fighting her but you're not alone._

Her lips part in surprise. Blood and dirt be damned, I want to kiss her.

Her next words crushed me.

_But you're her whore?_

**Feyre**

Why did I think that?

His eyes shutter and he turns away, just not fast enough to hide his flinch at my words. The mask, which had been slowly melting away as we talked, freezes back into place.

"I'm sorry." I say it out loud and reach across the gap between us to grip his arm.

Rhysand doesn't shake me off but he keeps his body angled away. Protecting himself? But from what, I couldn't guess.

I reach out along the mental link again, searching out this new and invisible pathway to his mind. _Help me to understand?_

I watch his chest rise and fall, his breathing so even that I wonder if he is consciously controlling it. And the longer he stays silent, the more sick inside I feel.

He has been a real ally, if unconventional at times. One of the very few allies I have here and not one I can afford to lose. But more than that, this tension between us has unsettled me.

Some inner instinct had me shuffling across the floor until I am close enough to rest against his side. Looking away with a sudden shyness, I gently lean my head on his shoulder.

I feel his gasp and he hesitates only a moment before shifting so that his arm can wrap around me, my head now lightly pillowed on his chest.

_There are very few people I care about. I do as Amarantha says to keep them safe._

_They're very lucky to have you,_ I send back. And I mean it.

Tamlin may have said that he loved me but every time I've needed proof of that love, he hasn't been there. If I’m honest, whenever I've needed help it's been either Lucien or Rhysand who _has_ been there for me.

Though mostly, I am alone.

**Rhys**

What can I tell her?

To hear her thoughts of love and the lack of it from Tamlin makes me pull her close. She relaxes into me but I feel uneasy. The physical and mental effects of the bond make me want to tell her is loved but a rational part of myself stops me short.

Do I really know if what I feel for Feyre is love? The bond isn't a guarantee of that or of happiness and is now, while I am feeling the newness of it so strongly, the time to promise something I might not be able to deliver?

Maybe I cannot promise love but, in a selfish way, I want to help her to see how I might, one day, be the one to offer it. So we talk for another hour, mostly mind to mind, and I feel her surprise as I tell about myself and show her just a fraction of the real me.

After she has drifted off the sleep against me, I slowly extract myself and leave her clean and warm, if not comfortable. When she wakes she might think the whole evening was a dream… though I hope not.

As I put physical distance between us, the intensity of my own feelings softens a little. I realised that what I now hope for Feyre _isn't_ to have the bond snap instantly into place. I no longer feel disappointed that it is my burden to bear alone.

Now, I hope that she will only recognise me as her mate _if_ we both get free of this hell. Away from this Mountain we might stand a chance but here, if anyone were to find out, it could only be used against us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Not sure if this is a one-off or if I want to continue to follow the rest of book 1.


	2. Amarantha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to DrJackAndMissJo, Lynn, constellationsalongthesky, argentum_nocte_sidus, amrensjewelry, ceirdern, thestarwhowishes, and jmajerus for your encouragement and to everyone who left kudos.  
> Your support for this story blew me away so here is chapter 2.
> 
> Please note the rating change.

**Rhys**

The wine is both a blessing and a curse.

That Feyre is unaware of what is happening is a kindness that I wouldn't wish away. But, freed from her normal caution around me, I am subjected to a torrent of thoughts that I'd really rather not hear.

The worst being when _my_ hand on Feyre’s back reminds her of Tamlin's touch. I don't need to see and feel her memories of being with him. If nothing else, it makes me short tempered and more likely to draw unwanted attention towards us. 

I remember the first time I entered her mind, how it felt to hear Feyre long to feel _his_ mouth on her skin. I couldn’t feel the bond then. This is infinitely worse.

The bond seems to allow her unguarded thoughts to drift my way, whether I want to hear them or not. I could shield more but losing the connection completely would be no better - it has taken very little time to grow used to this link between our minds.

We move to the centre of the room where I make sure everyone, Amarantha and Tamlin most definitely included, can see my mate's exposed and painted body through the sheer material draped over her. Much effort is needed on my part not to snap or growl at wandering eyes or signs of desire.

Instead, I smirk as though this was part of my plan, my obvious aim being to rile Tamlin. I make sure everyone sees what they expect to see: the High Lord of Night making use of a human in the only way he knows how. Use, abuse and discard. 

How many of them see the discord with my actions in the war? Can they all have forgotten how I fought beside humans and against Amarantha? It seems so. None here question my loyalty to Amarantha now. Well, at least I can use that to my advantage.

When my tour of the room is complete I settle Feyre on my lap. A mistake. 

I have sat with her like this before the second task: her under the influence, me playing the villain. But with the mating bond now drawing us closer together, I find my body reacting as it never has before. 

I've always felt an attraction, I won't lie about that, but I would never force myself on anyone, especially Feyre. Yet with her scent filling me with each breath and her weight applying delicious pressure so close to where I need it…

I feel Tamlin's eyes on us and decide to up the stakes, with the added bonus of easing some of my own longing. I pull her further onto my lap and sigh inwardly. _Yes_. 

And Feyre, unknowingly, leans into me, tilting her head back and exposing her neck. My hands partially change into talons and my eyes, I am sure, are slitted. Desire is destroying my control, which was weak at best to start with. 

I lick once, and slowly, up from her shoulder to her jaw, smudging the paint ever so slightly, then I nip her earlobe. It is enough to bring Tamlin to his feet and I see a way out - one which doesn't end with me taking Feyre against her will, while she is in this passive state, and in front of a room full of enemies. 

I shake off the beast and laugh at Tamlin's discomfort. With the whole room listening, I say, "You'd rather I stop here? Or maybe you want me to keep going. Maybe you want to watch as I take her, shall we find a quiet place, just the three of us? Feyre doesn't mind."

A growl erupts from deep in his chest, his eyes, teeth and hands all transforming. He crosses the room to reach us.

"But," I remind him, now in a whisper, " _She_ does mind." I nod to where Amaratha sits, her attention fixed on us. "So you'll have to choose: obey Amarantha or follow Feyre." I stand, pulling Feyre up into my arms as I mock him. Mock him with the truth that only I know: Feyre is _mine_ , not his. 

I leave the room with a bemused Feyre on my arm and head towards my private room. I want people to believe my lie but it helps that the lie is so close to the truth. Nothing will happen tonight but I will keep her here, close to me and far from those who could hurt her. 

She won't remember Tamlin’s choice to watch us go with no more than a second, quieter growl - but I will. I'll remember because I know if our roles were reversed, I would fight for her. 

Never would I watch as she was taken, incapacitated, to the room of an enemy.

**Feyre**

I've been in here before.

Even if Rhysand wasn't folded into a chair beside the desk, I would know this as his room. I sit up on the bed and nervously check for any smudges in the paint. As usual, there are marks at my waist but nothing to suggest anything has _happened_ here.

Relief - but less than on previous nights. I don't believe that Rhysand wishes me harm, I'm not sure I believe his mask at all any more. 

The fear I remember feeling has faded. He is powerful, of course, but he uses that power with control and intelligence. I trust him. And our private conversations, whenever he is near enough, are keeping me sane.

A banging on the door startles me from my thoughts but Rhysand barely stirs. I wonder how much sleep he gets. He never looks tired but sometimes his eyes seem strained. 

I push a thought out to him, in a way that now seems effortless, _Rhysand, wake up._

His eyes snap open and land immediately on me. _What's wrong?_

_There’s someone at the door._

I see his eyes shift to the door and feel his attention go there too, as his mind reached out _beyond_ the door.

 _They're leaving._ His eyes return to me. _You should leave too._

I nod. He's right, I should have been back in my cell hours ago but I can't deny that a night on a bed has done me good. 

"Thank you."

He stands and looks down at me hard, "You don't know what happened last night. You should not be thanking me." 

I tense at the reminder that my memory is impaired. I'm sure there is much I would not be happy about, much I would be embarrassed to hear. But I remember my thoughts before the door interrupted me. 

_I trust you._

My words trigger the strangest reaction in Rhysand. He seems to swell and deflate all at once. 

"Come," he says tightly, opening the door and removing all traces of paint, intact or otherwise, from my skin. 

**Rhys**

Amarantha was displeased.

I’m not surprised that she sends for me early the following evening and as I enter her rooms I brace myself for the fallout. 

"You did not have permission to take the her back to your room." 

"Nothing happened," I say in a voice that implies _human scum_ , as though that is explanation enough. 

"Even so, you should have put her back in her cell." She positions herself on the edge of the bed. "I know what you're doing." 

I tense and then remind myself that she has _no idea_ what I'm doing, she can't know. 

"If you're going to taunt Tamlin, then you need tone it down. By all means, show him how false-hearted humans are but you know he needs to watch his temper - don't make me punish Tamlin for something you have done."

I nod humbly, "I understand." I'm hoping she will let me go but without looking up I can hear she is shifting further back into the bed. My heart sinks. 

"Your little stunt also deprived me of your company last night. I think I've made myself clear, you are _always_ to be available for me." 

"Yes, I apologise. Let me make it up to you."

She smiles and hums in satisfaction. She thinks she has tamed me. "Start here," she said, indicating the swell of her breast, "and work down." 

As always, I shut down those parts of myself that belong only to me. I disconnect my mind and body, shutting down every memory or emotion, becoming a purely physical being.

But this time, the closer I get to the bed, the colder I feel and the more my bones and muscles resisted the movement. When I look up at Amarantha I understand why. 

_Butmymatemymatemymate!_

The mating bond rejects this, demands that I turn away. To even consider being with anyone but Feyre is a betrayal.

Yet, for both our safety while we're here and for all those hidden in Velaris, this has to be done. 

Nausea makes the movement of my mouth across her skin clumsy and I can sense her irritation growing. Her scent is all wrong and I beg myself to think of an excuse, _anything_ to walk away from this.

_Selfish, short-sighted and weak._

I steady my thoughts.

I believe that Feyre can free us all, something that I have spent nearly 50 years being unable to do. If this is my contribution then so be it. I will keep my mate safe at any cost.

I apply myself to Amarantha's pleasure but certain parts of my body are uncooperative. When she takes my male parts in her hand and finds me limp, she jeers and roughly attempts to stimulate a response.

And in the despair that follows, I allow myself to do something that I had never allowed before: I revisit a memory of flying in my mind. Feel the wind on my face during free fall and the snap of air against my wings as I catch myself. 

I fall deeper into the memory and make changes to it - I am no longer alone, now I imagine holding Feyre against me as I fly; the warmth and weight of her body in my arms. 

I took a huge and deeply personal risk. For fifty years I've kept my wings hidden but that memory of flying had them closer to reality than was safe. 

Even as I walk back to my room, I feel tears forming from the loss of my wings and yet thankful that they had stayed away tonight. I will need to find another way to fight the mating bond while I am with Amarantha. 

Maybe it was the events of this evening confusing me or maybe it was the tears blinding me, but my feet don’t take me back to my room.

The mating bond takes me home.

**Feyre**

There was once a time when I would have said it was ‘too early to sleep’ but these days I take my sleep when I can. And besides, time is more abstract Under the Mountain, it seems to flow like a tidal river: in both directions and at differing rates. A whole day can rush past and then at night my fears pull me back into the challenges of the past.

So the fleeting calm has me trying to find a comfortable way to lie on the cold, stone floor - not an easy task. My eyes drift closed and I attempt to slow my thoughts in time with my breathing.

Then a tug in my chest has me back on my feet. I’m instantly alert but it's not fear that is driving me. I can feel him before I see him, and what I can feel is grief.

 _Rhysand_. He is surprised, confused; I realise that he had not intended to visit me. I worry about what could have happened to leave him like this.

 _Feyre_. Even over the link he sounds tired. He arrives outside the cell and takes a final step towards the bars, disappearing and almost instantly reappearing on my side of the door.

 _What’s happened?_ He shakes his head and makes no answer, either verbally or mentally. I move towards him, I’m not even sure why, it just seems like the right thing to do _._ But he puts up a hand to stop me.

It hurts. The rejection feels like a missing step. I fall without knowing how far I have left to go, and knowing only _he_ can catch me. I step away and only when my back hits the wall do I stop. Everything about this confuses me: why is Rhysand here and why does it matter so much to me how he feels?

“You can call me Rhys, you know.”

My face warms, “Do you hear everything? Not just what I send you?” He nods. “But I don’t hear your thoughts.”

“I shield them from you,” he sounds so tired. I’d offer him a chair, if I had one.

“Can you teach me?”

He looks up from the floor, eyes landing on me, considering. “Yes, it would be better if you could. I’m not the only one who might want to listen.” Either he feels my fear or else it is written on my face. “Mine is not a common ability. Don’t worry.”

I say nothing more and neither does he. It is a comfortable silence but I can see a weariness in the way he stands that goes beyond physical exhaustion.

_Was it her?_

There is the tiniest twitch below his eye and I decide to ask nothing more about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was the follow up you were hoping for.


	3. Tamlin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe the response this story is getting. Thank you so much for reading and thanks if you've left a comment or kudos.

**Feyre**

The day of the third and final task is almost here. This evening will be the last gathering before my fate is sealed. 

Rhys says that he will not ask me to drink the wine, that I will need my full wits about me tonight and tomorrow. But, for appearances sake, we may need to pretend that nothing has changed. 

It's odd but really we are pretending all the time. He visits me at least once a day now, making me raise and lower my mental shield and sending me images of words to read. If paper and a pen were not too obvious here, I think he would be attempting to teach me to write too. 

I don't know why he is bothering. Well, the shielding I asked to learn and I guess it makes sense for him too - no one needs to hear all the rubbish that goes through my head! But the reading? Surely he has other ways to spend his time.

And though all this seemed to start off as a game, it feels different now. Not like anything I have known. I feel happy in his company - _safe_ even, which is insane given where I am. He tells me things about Prythian and answers my questions. He listens to me talk about life below the wall and seems genuinely interested. The word my brain provides for all this is friendship, but how can that be? 

Across the mental link, he is far less guarded with me since the night he came to my cell after... _something_ had happened. He still has secrets, obviously, and that night is one of them, but sometimes I see glimpses in my mind of faces I've never seen Under the Mountain or of a city unlike anywhere I have been in my (admittedly brief) time in Prythian. 

I don't push him on these images, I'm not sure if he even means to share them. I am just happy that he feels relaxed enough to have these thoughts when we are together. 

Now and then, when I am alone, I wonder if Tamlin and I will ever be like that. So open with each other. Maybe in time… but I'm not optimistic. What I have with Tamlin is different.

So tonight we are pretending that nothing has changed, pretending that I am just a nameless human captive and he the servant of my jailer. It hurts to see him put on the mask because I know we are _more_ than this, but no label seems to fit and nobody can know the truth. Rhys is hated here almost as much as Amarantha.

As Rhys walks beside me to the hall, for one last time, I can feel his nerves despite the more substantial mental shield at his end. What does _he_ have to be worried about? 

**Rhys**

Her shield is so advanced at this point that I can hear nothing from her down the bond. It's disconcerting. I have become accustomed to knowing her thoughts but I’m pleased, she deserves her privacy. All I am left with now are waves of emotion as they pass through her and over our bond towards me. I am left to draw my own conclusions as to what has triggered these emotions. 

The last week has been one filled with delight for me, totally at odds with my surroundings. As I learn more about Feyre, I drip feed her with harmless information about myself. As we talk, aloud or mind to mind, I am in awe of her determination in the face of everything around her and I savour every taste of her dry sense of humour. 

Best of all, she may not yet feel the bond but I know she doesn't hate me. I don't allow myself to think beyond that, to imagine a future where we are free and Feyre is part of my inner circle, or more… 

_Stop it._

Alive. That's what I am praying for. That she gets through tomorrow and has a chance to live, with or without me. And when I am truly honest with myself, I know she won’t choose me.

Without the wine running through her system, Feyre is more reserved tonight. Maybe she too is anxious about tomorrow. I leave her by the wall, acting disinterested as I stroll off to mingle with the crowd, but as always I keep part of my attention focused on whatever I can detect along the bond. It's going to be a long night.

**Feyre**

Leaning here, in shadow and apart from the crowd, I let my eyes sweep the room for the hundredth time. So far no one has expected me to dance or entertain them. Part of me is surprised as it is their last chance to do so, but their freedom is at stake too. Maybe they leave me alone out of respect.

Then a hand touches mine. _Tamlin_. He doesn't look at me but this is the first contact in weeks, the first time he has really acknowledged me here. I can't help it, my heart sings at the memory of other touches. 

He leaves too soon for my liking but then he indicates, with a quick nod of his head, that I should follow. I do. I follow him right out of the hall and along an empty corridor. 

When we are far enough that the voices behind us have faded to a quiet hum, Tamlin wastes no more time, pushing me up against the wall. When he _finally_ kisses me, my body matches the desire and urgency I can feel radiating out of him. 

But the longer we kiss the more uncomfortable I feel. I want him to touch me but his hands feel wrong. I encourage his kisses but the taste and scent of him are not what I'm expecting. Maybe it has just been too long since we last had a moment like this.

"Well well," Rhys drawls, "What _do_ we have here?"

During the short conversation that follows, exclusively between Rhysand and Tamlin, I feel the Lord of Spring pull away from me and, confusingly, I feel myself drawn towards the Lord of Night. 

Following a threat from Rhys, dressed up as polite advice, Tamlin leaves. As he does so, he looks at me with eyes brimming with emotion. It is the look of someone who knows they have run out of time. A goodbye.

I wonder what my face is saying. 

Rhys pulls me to him urgently, his eyes rake my body, taking in the heavily smudged paint. "I'm sorry, she's coming."

I barely have time to wonder why he is sorry before he's kissing me, holding me flush against him with arms of iron. I am trapped in his grip but despite the act being outwardly aggressive, he doesn't attempt to breach the seam of my lips with his tongue and his hands go no higher or lower than my waist, where he has touched me countless times before. He is gently with me.

**Rhys**

I had felt the spike of surprise and had to contain my own sudden rush of feeling - in my case panic. However, one glance at Feyre had been enough to see that she was in no immediate danger. For her, the surprise was the good sort. 

I watched them try to sneak away with gritted teeth. If Tamlin could get her free then I wouldn't stop him, but the risks of moving now, with so many possible witnesses, were huge. I shadowed them out of the hall, wrapped in darkness. I would help if I could. 

And then they stopped halfway to nowhere and I understood - the fool wasn't trying to _rescue_ Feyre at all. This was a purely selfish act of rebellion, his chance to say goodbye. If it had been possible for me to hate him more, then I would have - for his lack of faith in Feyre alone. Never mind that he had the _right_ to kiss her like this; that she welcomed his kiss. 

I could have stopped it right then. Yet, I felt her desire and heard her thoughts of how much she had missed this, as her shield slipped… so I decided that I would not intervene unless it was necessary. 

I threw my own shield across the bond and moved away, down the corridor to act as lookout. Lookout for my mate and her lover!

Only when I sensed unrest in the hall and guessed that Amarantha had noticed certain people's absence, did I move - getting rid of Tamlin easily enough and then pulling Feyre close, apologising with my eyes and my words for what I must do now, to cover Tamlin's tracks. 

This kiss is nothing like it should be. The first touch of my mate’s lips brings only shame and bitterness. I crush her to me and hold on for dear life. 

Knowing it was unavoidable doesn't help. This is a moment that we will never get back. Damn Tamlin and Amarantha and everyone else because the first time my tongue touched hers should not have been-

 _Wait_. I didn't do that, and yet…

Feyre's hands have moved while I was distracting myself with misery. Her fingers are now deep in my hair and her mouth has opened under mine. 

Cautiously, I brush my tongue along her lower lip and her grip on my hair tightens. I re-open the bond between us and her longing, her desperation for more, for _me_ , forces a groan to rise up from my chest. 

I sweep my tongue over hers and across the roof of her mouth, tasting her. Feyre's moan goes straight to my cock. _This_ is how it should be. Now and always. I want to claim her, _my mate._ I don't want to think about the consequences or the risks, I just want _her_. 

But Amarantha's shadow falls across the pair of us and I break away. 

**Feyre**

Amarantha’s jeers are mostly aimed at Tamlin, who I notice is back by her side. But that doesn’t lessen my embarrassment at being found so consumed with passion. I don’t even want to think about how it must have looked to Tamlin. 

Rhys and I are alone again now.

"You knew she was coming?" I am still breathless and Rhys is not much better. He nods. "So that was…" I try to connect the dots, "You were just covering for Tamlin?" 

He doesn't answer and embarrassment threatens to drown me. I don't know what came over me. Tamlin kisses me and I hardly respond; Rhysand kisses me and I can't get enough. So enthusiastic, it seems, that I didn't even realise the feeling was one-sided. It was all just a show for Amarantha. 

"I'm sorry." 

" _Don't_ apologise," he immediately snaps back.

I step away from the anger in his voice and after a minute of silence I speak to him, mind-to-mind. _You're cross with me?_

 _Not with you._ His answer is clipped. 

_With Tamlin?_

He looks at me, _He had a chance to get you out and he wasted it._

I’d never even considered trying to escape; it surely isn't possible, not from here. _We'd have been caught before we got out. And what would happen to everyone else if I left?_

Rhys closes the distance between us again, thick shadows forming at his shoulders, elbows and wrists. I watch the way the darkness leeks from him, falling to pool at his feet and then rippling out across the ground. The sight make my breath catch; I want to reach out and touch them. I only look away when he raises his hands to my face and holds me close enough for me to feel the breath as it leaves his nose. Closing his eyes, he traces my face with his fingers.

_If you'd come Under the Mountain for me and I thought there was even the slightest chance to get you out, I'd have taken it and damn everyone else._

He opens his eyes. I can see from his expression that he's not proud of this statement, but it is the truth. 

His fingers still frame my face and I feel a tug towards him. I close my eyes and suddenly my awareness of every point of contact between us is magnified. I can feel the scrutiny of his gaze on me but I'm not shy, I don’t pull away. And then his lips brush against my forehead, gentle and slow, in complete contrast to the kiss we just shared. 

Rhys moves to kiss down to between my eyebrows, then the corner of my eye. My head tips back and I feel his hum of approval as his lips caress my cheek. He moves to kiss my jaw, then below my chin and all the way down my neck. 

It's too much.

I clutch his shirt and pull him close, forcing his head back up until his eyes meet mine. _I don't understand._

I see panic in his eyes before he answers, _you looked like you needed some help relaxing before tomorrow._

I'm even more confused now. _This was all about Amarantha?_ Am I just a pawn to him? Just a way to beat Amarantha and regain his power? His ticket to freedom? 

Can I really blame him if that _is_ the case? 

I guess not. They have all been trapped for so long it's no wonder he wants to help me win in any way he can. 

There is confusion and doubt coming along the link towards me; his emotions are not so different to my own. I should reassure him. _Thank you for your help, I hope tomorrow I am worthy of it._

He goes to say something and then hesitates. I am about to apologise, in case I have said the wrong thing, when finally he asks, _Would a night on a bed help?_ He smirks, the old Rhys once again.

I remember how much better I’d felt after a night sleeping on his bed, while Rhys slept in a chair nearby. Tomorrow _is_ an important day so I nod, pushing aside how mixed up I feel about Rhys right now. And all the way to his room, I’m trying to ignore the quiet, internal voice that is suggesting I’d have an even better night if, this time, we shared the bed.


	4. Third Task

**Rhys**

Feyre took a very long time to fall asleep.

When we arrived at my room, I quickly offered her a soft shirt of mine to sleep in and left her alone to change. From outside, I also cleaned away every hint of paint. Though I was responsible for much of the smudging, the sight of her exposed skin still made me think only of _Tamlin_ touching her.

Inside a few minutes later, I found Feyre hesitating beside the bed, embarrassment seeping off of her. I was about to offer to leave when she asked, in broken phrases, if I'd share the bed.

Which is how I ended up lying behind her and feeling like the villain once again.

She can feel the effect of the mating bond - it's the only explanation for our kiss and her request that I stay close overnight. But she doesn't fully understand; her mind and body are not on the same page.

Being close, yet not close enough, has been a challenge to my self-control. Only when her breathing is finally even, like calm waves rolling over sand, do I give in and I press against her back, keeping my lower body angled away from hers. I allow my arm to loop around her waist as my mouth seeks out and finds her neck, leaving feather light kisses on her skin. 

My heart seems to settle again. Since our kiss, I have felt anxious to be touching her again. But I won't be Tamlin. I will not force myself on Feyre out of fear for what tomorrow might bring.

 _Today_ , I should say, as midnight has now passed.

I open my mouth against her neck and touch the tip of my tongue to her skin. Her scent is making my mouth water; I want to taste _all_ of her. I worry that I won’t be able to sleep while I am so tightly wound.

In her sleep, Feyre lets out a soft mew and wriggles in my arms, turning towards me. I can see her face is scrunched up, her body tense. _A dream._

Both my hands stroke up and down her back as she leans in closer and clings to my shirt. I nuzzle into her neck and shoulder, leaving yet more kisses, until she makes a quiet, more comfortable noise. Pulling back, my eyes meet hers - open and blinking sleepily up at me.

I freeze, watching for a moment until her heavy lids fall closed again, much to my relief. There is a conversation we need to have, but the middle of the night, just hours before the last task, is not the time to be having it. Now, she needs sleep. We both do.

But I hope we get to have that conversation - I hope I get to tell her everything.

With Feyre now settled in arms, I do manage to sleep for a couple of hours, waking in time to carefully extract myself from Feyre's grip and leave her to sleep a little longer.

I know Amarantha will be expecting to see me so even though the time will soon be 4am, I make my way to her rooms, leaving Feyre in my own.

The doorway is warded with what little magic I have available but I am not too worried for my mate tonight. For most here, fear of me will be protection enough. As for the others, they would not risk disrupting Amaratha’s third task after what happened during the second.

Approaching my destination, I can hear the sounds of a conversation inside but nothing distinct enough to make out through the door. I reach out and find the Attor’s poorly guarded mind, which I enter and make use of his ears to listen.

“If the armies are ready then they can join us as soon as I have Tamlin broken and bedded. Send word this afternoon.”

“Yes my Queen.”

If her words hadn’t been enough, the Attor’s thoughts as he moved away (of increased freedom for himself and more of his kin arriving soon) confirmed what I’d been thinking for several decades: Amarantha was only the first phase and a full invasion is now imminent.

I release his mind while I seek better control over my own. I need to get word to the Night Court – I need to tell Mor to prepare Velaris, Cassian to ready the Illyrian warriors, Azriel to send his spies towards Hyburn... But while I am here, I can do _nothing_.

 _Not yet_ , I tell myself, _but if Feyre frees us I could be back with my family by tonight._

Having hesitated too long already, I knock and enter, hoping to show my face and leave quickly.

“Rhysand.”

I bow and look up at her with my face void of feelings, “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Something you need?” I ask, watching her. A slight twist to her lips reminds me of every cruel and sadistic act I’ve every witness from her. I don’t show it, but I am afraid. For almost fifty years I coped by knowing that all I truly cared about was safe and far from here. Now, I have something, _someone_ , to lose. And that smile says she knows it.

“You’re pushing your luck Rhysand. Your games in the hallway might have convinced Tamlin but you didn’t fool me: you’re _helping_ her."

I still had faith that my expression betrayed nothing but she gave me no change to verbally refute her claims.

"I feel I should warn you that things round here are about to change. If you want to enjoy _more_ freedom, not less, then you need to stay away from the girl. I know you've been visiting her – yes, you’ve hidden yourself in darkness and wiped minds to cover your tracks, but I know everything.”

I felt my internal temperature drop significantly. That was exactly what I've been doing and I’d congratulated myself too, on a job well done.

Amarantha’s smile grows fractionally wider, exposing the points of her teeth. “It’s time to decide who you want to be in the new Prythian. Want my advice? Sit out the final task, it won’t end well for the _human_ and I have use for you yet Rhysand.”

The way she lingered on the word ‘human’ did exactly what she’s hoped: reminded me of just how vulnerable Feyre would be today.

When she dismisses me, I manage only a short bow.

I don’t waste time on the way back and though I know Feyre will need to be back in her cell soon, nothing is going to stop me from holding her as she wakes. This might be the only time she wakes in my arms. _It might be the last time she ever wakes…_

I force all such thoughts and what-ifs from my head, focusing instead on the feel of my mate against me. She is already waking. As the confusion of sleep clears from her mind, I press a final kiss to her temple. _Alive. Please,_ I beg the Mother and the Cauldron _, just let her live._

Feyre is still half in a daze when I deposit her back in her cell, looking at me with confusion - like I am a particularly challenging puzzle. I know this look, I have been trying to nurture her problem solving skills alongside reading and shielding.

Good, I'm happy to be a distraction. The less time she spends thinking about what will happen later today the better. I should try to follow my own advice.

**Feyre**

As I entered the hall, I had to choose: fear or hate.

I will not be afraid so I have been running on pure hate.

When I faced Amarantha, I felt hate for her and everything she has done to those I care about. When Tamlin could barely look in my direction and failed to offer any words of encouragement or love, I hated Amarantha on his behalf. 

But when I took the first ash dagger and pushed it into the heart of a male High Fae who I’d never seen before, I felt a shift – now that hate is only for myself. I have made a terrible choice, one that can never be undone. This is might be the only way to free us but it is a one way street. 

I have been shielding my mind since the start of the task. I didn’t see Rhys as I came in but I felt his presence far from where Amarantha and Tamlin waited. I was surprised to sense him so far back, in a doorway, like coming at all was a last minute decision.

I can feel him now, just outside of my mental wall though physically we remain separated. I can feel his gentle touch - asking permission to be let in… but I’m keeping him out.

My thoughts are an ugly mess of self-loathing, despair and fear. Because I know how this ends: with my death. Either Amarantha will kill me or I will turn the last dagger upon myself.

And I'm worried what Rhys would do if he knew that.

Whatever the true reason for last night’s events, it has changed everything for me. It has left me questioning Tamlin and my feelings for him while wondering what it is that draws me towards Rhys. My response to his kiss wasn’t logical. He was holding back, being respectful – I’m the one who made it into something more.

Rhys said he would have tried to get me out however hopeless that seemed. And this morning, I caught a fraction of his thoughts through the link, just as I was waking - heard him _begging_ for me to survive today.

And, I realise now, I feel the same way about him. I want him to survive even if I can’t. So I need to stop him from doing anything stupid.

I need him to keep his head down and let me go. _Please, let me go,_ I think to myself.

My first Fae victim continues to bleed onto the ground, though the ash had done its job before his body reached the floor. I retreat deep inside myself and the second Fae dies easier - she calls for my dagger with her eyes, pleads with me to make it quick. I can offer that much at least.

Another stroke along this link between us and I can feel his sorrow for me mixing with my own. Still I shut him out. The next wave of emotion is all his, I wonder if he even meant for me to feel it, a deeper sadness wrapped up with a longing to help, to comfort me.

I may have accepted my fate but I cannot afford to risk Rhys' reaction. So I increase the strength of my shield and then pull off the final hood.

Tamlin stares back at me.

With my thoughts on Rhys I hadn't given Tamlin a second thought. The Tamlin behind me is a fake, maybe I should have recognised this Tamlin earlier by his general shape and size. _But this doesn't fit._

Rhys has told me much about how this curse began, how obsessed Amarantha is with Tamlin - I just can't see her risking her prize like this. She must be expecting me to refuse but even so, this is a gamble that is out of character.

So I work it through, using the same logic that Rhys has encouraged when we’ve talked puzzles and strategy. My mind sifts through everything I know and eventually I land on an overheard conversation back at Tamlin's Manor… and the rest falls into place.

Tamlin looks proud of me as I figure it out and position the last dagger. I see his discomfort as I push it into his chest but he’s not dying. He’s smiling.

**Rhys**

I’m so proud of my mate as she works through the puzzle of Tamlin’s heart, despite everything Amarantha has just put her through. A grin splits across my face.

But I know this will _not_ be forgotten.

Sickness brought on by terror had made me late and left me to watch my mate’s fate from the back. Now it’s over, I start to push through the crowd, wanting to be near enough to help when our powers are returned.

Except they are _not_ being returned and suddenly those around me are restless and angry, blocking my path to Feyre. I can see Amarantha’s anger swell and rupture. All around me High Fae are stumbling back, stumbling into me, as they try to avoid becoming a target. Even though we _all_ know who her target will be.

_Feyre!_

She doesn’t hear me, her shield is too strong. And I’m still too far away, too weak without my full power - but that won’t stop me trying.

Amarantha lashes out with her magic. I hear the stone floor crack with the impact as Feyre’s body is slammed down into it. I still can’t speak to her mind-to-mind but that is not the only way to tell her that I’m coming. “Feyre!”

I need a weapon, I need –

 _The ash dagger._ I weave between Fae from all courts and jump up beside Tamlin. Had I spared him a thought, I might have hoped for his help in this. But he is still healing and frozen in shock as he watches Amarantha break each of Feyre’s ribs. I can't wait for him.

Dagger in hand, I throw myself at Amarantha.

But with all her magic to hand, she simply brushes me away. I am just an insect, an annoyance but no more. For a moment I thought I could be the mosquito – tiny yet with a mighty sting. I thought I could end this.

It hits me now that I cannot save her but I feel no regret for trying. I watch Amarantha bring Feyre back from unconsciousness and I keep on yelling, “Feyre!” Until Amarantha turns her full attention onto me.

If my mate is going to die, she will not die alone.

**Feyre**

Chaos reigned when Amarantha refused to release everyone and turned her rage directly on me.

In these last few minutes I have felt so much pain. Pain which is now so intense, that I can no longer identify which part of my body it corresponds to.

And a brief pause in the blows brings no relief because now I can feel _his_ pain.

Rhysand came to save me when no one else moved to help, even Tamlin. I heard him calling to me and now he is distracting her, holding her attention. But I can see what it’s costing him and it’s too much.

“Stop, _please_.” That’s all I need to say to have Amarantha circling back round to me. _Go Rhys,_ I send to him.

I swear I hear almost a chuckle back, _No darling, I'm staying with you._ I'm already crying but fresh tears fall. Our eyes meet as Rhys struggles to stay standing, still feeling the pressure of Amarantha's magic pushing down on him and bleeding heavily from his head.

And then the mental link, the connection I've grown so used to these last few weeks, pulls taut. And the bridge between us seems almost physical, like a part of me could walk straight past Amarantha and reach Rhys where he is being held back.

I am open to him and him to me. In a flash, I see through his eyes and realise that this link between us is _more_ than a method of communication, it’s more fundamental than that. More than a bargain. 

The answer has been here all along - the reason I am drawn to him, the reason he is helping me, the reason his survival feels more important than my own.

Just as Amarantha reaches for me again, I push out another thought - maybe my _last thought_ \- to the person on the other side of the link.

_Mate?_


	5. Balcony

**Feyre**

Just one word.

 _Mate_?

It’s not really a question. Deep in my soul, I know what we are to each other.

A brief glimpse of his face confirms everything I have just felt.

Down the bond, I can feel his joy and terror and love and despair all rolling together, caught in an undercurrent that neither of us has the power to resist. 

And then Amarantha fills the space in front of me, parting me from him. She holds me up with her magic alone, holds me straight when the pain in my chest and sides makes me want to curl in on myself.

She has returned from tormenting Rhys and opens her mouth to say something but stops short. Her nostrils flare.

If I wasn’t so close, I would not have seen the way her eyes widened and lips parted fractionally wider; I would not have heard the faint gasp. But I did hear and see.

Understanding overcomes me, crushing what little hope I had for my mate surviving this. I have long since given up hope for myself.

Amaratha may have been blessed with beautiful features but her expression contorts them beyond recognition. “You think you’re good enough for one of us? You dare call _him_ your mate?” she hisses, too quietly for any but me to hear.

Long fingers tighten around my neck, choking me. “When I’m done with you, I’ll kill him. Or maybe I should kill him first, so you can watch.”

Unable to speak, I allow myself to think of the mate I never asked for and will never deserve. How ungrateful I must have seemed, when I kept turning back to Tamlin, even though _Rhys_ was the one keeping me alive.

I may not have been looking for this sort of connection but still, I should have seen the truth sooner, been braver with my emotions.

But I _was_ brave when I opened up to Rhys, telling him more about myself than I’ve told any other. And he was brave when he trusted me in return.

I thought I knew this feeling, I thought I’d found it with Tamlin, but that was just a pale imitation compared to how I feel now.

My chest aches as though Amarantha were squeezing that part of me too, not just my neck. In a way she is. In threatening Rhys she is showing me the cost of losing him. It would be a form of dying – like losing a part of myself that can never be replaced.

_For though each of my strikes lands a powerful blow…_

The line of the riddle comes back to me in a flash of insight. I push myself to remember the words line-by-line, and in each I find a new understanding. The answer to the riddle is suddenly obvious, as though understanding _Rhys_ was part of the riddle all along.

I try to speak but only manage to splutter. Down the bond, I feel rising desperation from my mate and faintly I hear him say my name.

We are both dying but maybe I can still save him. 

With one sharp movement, Amarantha releases my neck and pins me to the ground. I can no longer see Rhys’ face but as I shout out the answer, I hope he knows that it's for him. For my mate.

“Love!” Amarantha stares, not immediately understanding, “The answer to the riddle is love.”

 _I love you Rhys,_ I try to say, as close to ‘goodbye’ as I can face, but I'm too weak; I don't think my words reach him. 

I hope that freedom and happiness are waiting and that he understands that I loved him too, even if I wasn't able to say it, even if I realised too late. 

Wherever and whatever is waiting for me, I am his. 

Amarantha's face turns ugly with rage - the last face I see before I hear my neck snap. 

**Rhys**

She knew me, what I am to her and always will be. And she wasn't appalled or disappointed. She wanted this bond between us. Wanted me, after everything. 

And then she died. 

My heart shattered to the sound of that snap. It will forever echo in my memory. 

But before I can feel the full loss of my mate, I am mentally jumping towards her end of the bond, where I can feel her still. 

Like holding a butterfly inside a cage made of my fingers, I can feel her awareness brushing against me. I bring her back over the bridge that linked us; that last and most important part of her, still alive and now safe inside of me.

Maybe it's selfish but I keep her from leaving. 

The control I have to keep over myself is exhausting - outwardly I must mask my emotions and inwardly I need to hold Feyre securely enough to stop her leaving me and yet not so tight as to damage her. 

I didn't even watch as Amarantha died, she was no longer important. Only Feyre. 

When Tamlin returns to her broken shell, cradling her as I had been longing to do, I speak directly into the minds of the other High Lords. 

None disagree with my plan. Just as well since I would be willing to break further into their minds, to persuade them, if necessary. 

When it comes to my turn, I pour all the love I have for her into the body below. I remember how cautious I'd been to label this feeling. How unwilling I was to promise myself to her when I first felt the bond… I promise it now and more, just _please wake up_. 

It is only as Tamlin plays his part that I realise what will happen next. 

I release her soul from its cage, missing the connection as soon as she's gone. Feeling sick, I see my mate wake in my enemy's arms - the male she'd loved enough to come here to save. 

The male she must now go home with. 

**Feyre**

Confused. My head is full of cotton wool and my memories are slow to come back. 

I look around and there are faces here I recognise as well as faces I am seeing for the first time - not strangers but the masks I had become so used to are gone. 

Finally, I look into Tamlin's face and he is all happiness and pride. Yet the scene is all wrong… The problem is just at the tip of my fingers; I reach blindly towards it…

Rhys.

Everything hits me at once, the way he's protected me, taught me, fought for me.

_Mymatemymatemymate_

I remember the link, the _bond_ \- our mating bond, and how I'd understood everything he was feeling just before I died.

Now that bond is darkness. I extend my new Fae senses outwards, searching. I scan the faces nearby again but he is definitely absent. I look further away and eventually find him, near the back of the hall. Leaving. 

_Rhys!_ I push out to him. And finally I get back not words but a feeling from him. Guilt. What could he have to feel guilty for? What did I miss while I was dead? 

_Rhys?_ I try again and see him pause _._

_You did well today, Feyre._

_Where are you going?_

He looks back briefly, our eyes meet. _The Lord of Spring is talking to you._ And then he's gone. 

_Wait!_ But he doesn't, I feel him winnow away. _Come back! Please,_ I ask, not knowing how far the bond can reach. But I hear nothing in reply. 

Tamlin is beginning to look concerned the longer I ignore him. But _my mate_ has gone.

Nothing else matters. 

* * *

The pillow is damp with all the tears I’ve hidden inside it. Tears for the Fae I have killed. Tears for my mate and myself.

I turn over on the unfamiliar bed and even that simple movement feels odd – my body is not quite my own and my awareness is more meticulous than before, sensing everything down to the most minute detail.

The loose nightgown seems to catch on my skin, suddenly rougher than cotton has any right to be.

And then I feel it. The tug.

My next breath doesn’t come and new tears sting the corners of my eyes without falling, as I wait to understand what this new feeling means.

I feel the tug again and this time it is more directional, pulling me towards the door.

Up on my feet and wrapping a cloak around me, I leave without a thought of the High Lord sleeping in the room next to mine.

Regular tugs guide me down passages and up sets of stairs until I emerge on a balcony, the faint light of dawn almost blinding after so long underground.

I’m so lost to the yellows, reds and oranges bleeding into the sky, that I don’t notice Rhys waiting for me at first. When I do, I see his eyes running up and down my new Fae body. Yet, his face betrays nothing and the bond is still quiet.

I’m suddenly nervous.

“You left,” it is a stupid way to start a conversation but the hurt I’d felt as he disappeared is still too fresh to ignore. When I’d wanted only his arms around me, I’d had to make do with Tamlin and Lucien comforting me.

“I had things to do.”

“Like what?” I ask in disbelief.

“Nothing that concerns you!” he snaps, his face twisted and angry. He’s never looked at me like this before.

I’ve never been frightened of him until now.

Taking a step back, I watch him turn away from me. Wings of gathering shadow begin to form and the darkness at his end of the bond seems to pulse.

“Was it all a lie?” I'm not sure that I want the answer. 

He doesn’t face me but he does surprise me by saying, “No.” I wait for his reassurance, for him to elaborate. Eventually he looks over his shoulder at me, his face mocking, “I really am your mate, I had no control over that.” Again he faces away.

Every part of my body feels heavy and my head hurts with the effort of trying to make sense of everything. How can this Rhysand be the same male who held me as I slept, begged the Cauldron for my safety, felt sorrow for me during the final task, and had been prepared to die with me.

“Put your shield up,” he snaps and shakes his head as though disappointed.

I do as he commands and then wrap my arms around myself, steadying my breath before asking, “Why did you call me here?”

When he turns around fully once more, his face is blank and cold as marble, “To tell you that it meant nothing. I saw an opportunity when you made your deal with Amarantha and I made sure you had the best chance of beating her. You did what we needed you to do and now it’s done.”

I try to reply but can’t so I open my shield and speak directly into his mind, _But- You love me?_ I hate how it comes out as a question. Hate how he’s making me doubt myself.

He tilts his head, mocking once more, “A mating bond doesn't mean love.”

“I know that!” I'm becoming hysterical, the words come out shrill. Maybe I don’t fully understand the mating bond but I know what I felt from him as I was dying.

I can sense him preparing to leave and I feel the first fingers of panic start to grip me.

“You’ll be missed, better hurry back to your High Lord.”

“And what about you, will you miss me?”

“There’s a war coming. I don’t have time for a mate. And even if I did,” he steps closer, “I wouldn’t want _you_.” He spits the words at me and his expression reinforces the message. But…

But his eyes seem to say something else. The pupils, blown wide and surrounded by a ring of stunning purple, seem to be asking something of me, begging even. I can see _my_ Rhys in those eyes.

_I don’t believe you. Why are you doing this?_

Rhys shakes his head again, walking towards the far end of the balcony. “Believe what you want.” As he reaches the stone parapet he vanishes, winnowing to who knows where.

“Come back!” I scream, like my words can reach him wherever he’s gone. “Rhys, you prick! Come back!”

When he doesn’t re-appear, I find that I cannot move or drag my eyes away from the spot where he winnowed, because surely _surely_ he wouldn’t just leave me here.

“Come back, you prick.” The words are quieter and joined, finally, by tears.

After ten minutes I drop to me knees, unable to leave and too tired to stay standing. “Rhys, _please_.” Just a whisper on the wind. “Don’t leave me.”

By the time the sun is fully up, others begin to come out onto the balcony to enjoy their newly regained freedom. I don’t turn to look at them but I hear the way their footsteps stop and whispered words are exchanged.

It’s not long before Tamlin drops to the floor beside me, lifting my chin to see my face, dirty now with the tracks of many tears.

I don’t fight him when he takes me in his arms and carries me back to my room. All the fight in me has gone.

_…when I kill, I do it slow._

**Rhys**

I know I will remember every word I’ve said today and every expression of pain that gripped her face. 

She's my mate and despite everything, she's choosing me. Believing in me when I am giving her every reason to hate me instead. I don’t deserve her love.

She is everything I've longed for and I'm ruining it. It doesn't matter why. It doesn't matter that this is the only way to save Prythian – the only way to keep the courts united. Because, even if Feyre came to me willingly, Tamlin would never let it rest.

And Hyburn is coming.

It's too late to find another way, so I spit poisonous words into her disbelieving face and winnow high into the sky above.

I feel my wings groan from lack of use, as they snap out to catch me. From here I watch as she waits for me, calling to me.

When I see her fall to her knees, I know I need to make a choice: go to her or leave. Simply watching achieves nothing, for either of us.

 _Feyre will be safer with Tamlin_ , I tell myself, _and she will be happier if she can learn to hate me._

So I winnow to the Night Court, to my home, without her. And the pain is just as much physical as it is mental. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me!


	6. Night Court

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains references to rape.
> 
> This chapter is all from Rhys' POV, as they are split geographically. So the next one will be Feyre's POV and will cover the same period of time.

**Rhys**

I land on a different balcony far away, at the House of Wind. Mor barely has time to gasp before I'm falling to my knees. 

She reaches my side in time to hear me whisper, "She's my mate," and then my head is in my hands and I'm fighting the urge to destroy half the building - half the _mountain_ even. 

I've messed up. More than messed up, I know, but there is no way back now. No way back to her. 

"Who's your mate? _Rhys_ , what's happened?" 

So I tell her everything. It hurts, like a poison being sucked from my veins but it helps too. I don't feel as alone. 

When I finally look up at my cousin, her face is hard, "You have to go and get her, _now_." I shake my head but Mor grips my arm tightly and continues, "She _loves_ you Rhys and she's your mate."

"She _loved_ me," I correct bitterly, "She may not love me now."

I sense Mor's gaze on me and I can pinpoint the moment she breaks, a heartbeat later she throws her arms around me. "I'm so glad you're home and I love you and I've missed you so much but you are _such an idiot_!" It all comes out in a rush. She pulls back and punches my arm. "Why did you have to shout at her?" 

"There wasn't time to explain." I'm staring at the ground but after a brief silence Mor takes my head between her hands and forces me to meet her gaze. 

"No," she says slowly, "No, that's not it. What were you afraid of - that you'd tell her about Hyburn and she wouldn't choose you? Or that she would?" 

There are tears in my eyes now. "Amarantha held Prythian for almost fifty years and you haven't seen it Mor, you don't know what she's done. What's she's made me do… When Hyburn comes, all seven courts _must_ rise together; if even one court sides with him then we might not be strong enough."

 _If the Spring Court sides with Hyburn,_ is what I mean but I leave Mor to read between the lines. 

"If we fall, no one will be free, no one will be safe." 

Slowly, my cousin asks, "So you wanted it this way?" 

"I _want_ my mate!" my voice breaks on the final word but before Mor can insist again on returning to fetch Feyre, I continue, "But more than that, I want her to _live_ , I can't feel her die again Mor, I _can't_. I want the world to be safe for her… and bringing her here would put that at risk."

Mor is crying now - for me, I realise. For what I’ve lost. "So what do we do?" 

Her question reminds me that I am her High Lord and I feel stronger for it. "We get the Inner Circle together," I sit up straighter, "We find proof of what Hyburn is planning and then I call a meeting of the High Lords."

It's a plan, or the start of one at least.

When Mor leaves me, my thoughts inevitably return to the balcony.

I know I've screwed up but every other option felt selfish and, in time, I know Feyre would have felt that too. She would have ended up hating me, or herself, if Prythian fell because of us. 

I should have explained why I had to leave her but after everything she's gone through, I couldn't make Feyre bear this burden too. 

And I _was_ afraid - Mor always sees right through me.

Because I would have brought Feyre here, despite everything, if she'd asked me to. I would have put her before everyone else, even before my court. And that terrifies me. 

* * *

The next few hours are busy, too much so for me to greet my family the way I would have wanted. They ask me to tell them everything that happened Under the Mountain but there are some things I will never share.

Only Mor knows about Feyre and, for now, I’m going to keep it that way. 

With a plan in place, time moves quickly. A week passes. And then two, with no news from Hyburn. We hear plenty of rumours but the lack of leads puts me on edge. 

Flying helps, gliding over Velaris and reminding myself that this city was worth all the terrible things I did to keep it safe.

But some days the waiting just feels like temptation, like the universe daring me to change my mind… because I miss Feyre every waking moment, memories alone are not nearly enough.

When the urge to winnow right to Tamlin’s door grows too much, I seek out Cassian. We train until my muscles seize and he never asks why.

At first, I keep the bond shielded in both directions, mostly out of fear that I will feel her hate for me, I am a coward.

When I finally lift the barrier to her thoughts, I am met by a wall so thick and strong that I feel proud for a moment. Until I remember that _I_ am who she is guarding herself against. 

Now I keep the bond open but I hear only perfect, unbroken silence from Feyre. 

* * *

_It always starts this way: flat on my back and pinned to the bed. I sense the false queen drawing near and I fight the invisible bonds. The most my muscles can do is twitch as my pulse becomes a pounding in my head, war drums on the day of defeat._

_Her hand slides up my calf, all the way until she is brushing sensitive skin, coaxing a reaction I neither want nor enjoy. Another hand lands on my chest and she drags her nails over my tattoos - an attack on my court, my home._

_When she lowers herself onto me, I break out in a cold sweat, fighting for control, my mind against my body. In this internal civil war there are no winners, Amarantha makes sure of that. She teases, brings me close to the edge then pulls away._

_Sweat mixes with tears. I’m aroused to the point of pain and she waits for me to beg. She would keep me here all night, maintain this heightened state, I know – she’s done it before._

_“Please.”_

_I hear her laugh as her body surrounds mine once more._

_And then the scene changes. My ‘please’ still echoes between us but instead of moving closer Amarantha steps away, holding Feyre. Instead of a laugh, I hear a snap._

_I feel Feyre die._ And I wake up.

The sweat and tears are real enough. I retreat to a corner of my room, taking the bed sheet with me, to cover my naked body. 

The dreams keep me in limbo, re-living the worst moments of the last few years. And there is no one I can share them with.

* * *

It takes another two week but Azriel finally brings home the proof that we need in the form of a captured faerie from Hyburn's army. 

At last, I can call the High Lords together and maybe we can squash this threat before it gets any closer. 

It is the night before that anxiously awaited meeting when I feel it - a spike of fear. _Her_ fear. It vibrates through my bones and chills my blood. After feeling nothing from her for so long... How bad must this feeling be, to reach me through her defences? 

I get nothing else, no images or words, but it is enough to know that my gamble was wrong. 

She is _not_ safe in the Spring Court.

My body lurches forward as I go to winnow but then stop myself.

My mate is afraid but the safety of everyone, her included, could be lost if I intervene. The meeting is only one day away. And the fear I felt is contained again within her impenetrable mental wall. I must trust that Feyre can handle this – whatever this is.

I hope. 

Besides, I lost my chance to protect her when I left her behind. I could have protected her from whatever has just happened if I'd brought her home with me...

The beast begins to form, talons at my hands and feet, fangs and slitted eyes. It is Cassian who notices, who grips my arms trying to bring me back from the edge.

Too late, I hear nothing of what he is saying. Wings erupt from my back and I jump from the window into the night. 

He may not understand what has triggered this transformation but Cassian flies with me, keeping a respectful distance behind. Barely aware of him, I let him follow. 

Higher and higher I climb, remembering those first few dreams of Feyre, her human hands always busy. Beautiful. 

I replay the memory of the first time I saw her, the dancing light of huge bonfires reflecting in her pale eyes as she looked back at me without a hint of fear. 

I picture the moment she arrived Under the Mountain and not long after, the moment when I knew for sure that she was mine. 

I roar, loud enough for every resident in Velaris to hear, and try to push away the remembered warmth of her body next to mine, the taste of her mouth, the look in her human eyes as they met mine for the last time. 

And then worse, I remember the first time she felt afraid of me, as I shouted and drove her away. And now this new fear, for some unknown cause in the court where I thought she'd be safe.

_She’s mymatemymatemymate._

I break, turning my talons on myself, ripping at arms, legs and chest, as I re-live her fear over and over.

Cassian stops me, taking several deep cuts before I realise he is there. "Rhys!" His concern is obvious. "Come back to the House." 

_Rhys, come back._ Her voice - just as clear in my head as when she spoke the words, calling to me from the balcony. 

The howl, a wordless cry of pain, echoes off the mountains, maybe off the moon too. It is a sound I've never made before and I'm not sure I'd know how to do it again. I hope I never need to.

As the sound fades, so too do my fangs, talons and wings. Cassian wraps strong arms around my healing chest and keeps us both aloft. If he wasn't here, I would fall now, crashing into the earth below without making any attempt to save myself.

I'm not yet ready to be grateful that he's here to stop me falling. 

A flash of blue tells me Azriel is with us. Between them, my brothers hold me up. I allow them to return me to the safety of my room, where I sleep through until morning. 

* * *

I've barely finished dressing when Mor knocks and enters without waiting. She takes in my clothing, chosen for the High Lords meeting, and then fixes me with a piercing stare. "Do we need to talk about it?" 

"About what?" 

She sighs and leans against the doorframe, I can imagine Feyre doing the same. I turn away. 

"About you going into self-destruct mode with no warning at all."

"Well, I'm fine now." 

"Rhys," she places a hand high on my back, the tips of her fingers resting on my shoulder. "I'm here. Talk to me." 

She waits. I know she would wait all day if I needed her to. 

"Something happened to Feyre. I felt it down the bond. She was frightened - more than frightened. I don't even know what happened because her shield is so strong. But whatever it is, it's my fault because I left her to go home with Tamlin."

Mor rests her head between my shoulder blades and wraps her free hand across my chest. "It won't be for much longer."

I cover the hand on my chest with mine, "I hope you're right." 

"What about the meeting?" 

"I need to go, we can't wait. And besides," I say, allowing myself to voice the hope that's been building inside me, "She might be there."

* * *

She isn't and I feel foolish now for thinking that she might be. Some of the pain from last night resurfaces too, the longing and regret that her continued absence adds more fuel to. 

With my mask in place, I update all the High Lords about the Hyburn situation. Aside from some expected resistance from Beron, they listen with the attention I had hoped for. 

When Amarantha's name is mentioned I feel the hold on my self-control slip, the voices fade to murmurs and then to silence. Her scent fills my nostrils and I worry that the others will smell it too, smell her on me. My skin itches, as though I need to wash. 

And then it passes; and I check my mask remains in place before returning to the conversation. 

Throughout the meeting, I find it very difficult to keep from staring at Tamlin. Interestingly, he also seems to look my way more often than necessary. 

I can't ask him what has happened because I won't do anything that might jeopardise a united stand against Hyburn.

But, whatever happened yesterday, it feels like he knows that I know… I don't find that very reassuring... Maybe it’s all in my head.

Either way, the faster I can remove this threat of Hyburn's invasion, the faster I can remove Feyre from the Spring Court.

* * *

I arrive back into Velaris at twilight, ready to tell my Inner Circle how the High Lords meeting went. They have all gathered to meet me, their faces, though, are grave.

Mor doesn’t wait for my update. “Rhys, we know why Hyburn hasn’t already invaded, he’s going after the Cauldron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like my last chapter upset a lot of people... I'm sorry :(  
> This is not loads better, I know, but I promise we are heading in the right direction.  
> Hoping to get Feyre's parallel chapter done over the weekend.  
> Etta x


	7. Spring Court

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots in this chapter (I am speeding up Feyre gaining her abilities) so it is quite a long one. Hopefully it still holds together.

**Feyre**

The day they take me 'home', the sky is studded with clouds hitching a lift on a fast wind travelling east. My eyes follow the movement as though I am reading some truth from their passing. But I already have all the truth I'll ever need. 

The clouds, the breeze, Tamlin's hand at my elbow - none of it changes the hurt I feel inside. The secret I can't share with anyone: I have a mate, but that mate doesn't want me. 

Tamlin steps in front of me, catching my eye. He's waiting for an answer to a question I never heard. He sighs, "It's time to go, are you ready?" I cast my eyes around the groups of Fae gathering beside the mountain. A crack inside me widens. _Not yet, please._ "Feyre?" 

I have to ask. "Have you seen Rhys?" My voice is so quiet that for a moment I think Tamlin is going to pretend he hasn't heard, though the tension in his jaw gives him away.

Instead, he decides to misunderstand. "You don't need to worry about Rhysand, he's gone and I’m not going to let him anywhere near you."

He sees my disappointment but doesn't call me on it; I see his jealousy and look away. 

He grips my shoulder tightly, "We're going home." The words are followed by a rush of scenery as he winnows with me back to the manor. The servants have made the place presentable again but I don’t feel any relief at seeing it. The person who had been happy to stay here forever is dead. 

I withdraw to my room and five days pass before I leave it again. Five days were I say little or nothing to Tamlin, Lucien or Alis, who all call on me at regular intervals. Five days where I sleep in short bursts, interrupted by nightmares. 

Five nights where I stare out of my window, looking roughly north, and wonder if, despite the horrible words that were said, he might be out there somewhere, looking south. 

* * *

I relive the worst of my memories from Under the Mountain while I sleep. And when I wake, I torture myself further by reliving the best moments – the mind-to-mind conversations where I discovered Rhys hiding behind the Rhysand persona. The way he offered me comfort in small acts of kindness and sometimes sought comfort with me in return. The feel of his lips on my skin, like I was precious to him. Feeling loved, even in the face of death.

And when I get lost in longing for Rhys I remind myself of the moment he left. Over and over, I repeat what he said. _I wouldn’t want you._ I try to turn the pining into poison, to hate him. _I wouldn’t want you._ But when I do, the bond between us burns in my chest.

I will not believe that he doesn’t love me. I’m angry about his lack of trust but I have a long history of saying the opposite of what I mean – if we truly are equals, then maybe he has done the same.

I haven’t forgiven the hurt he has caused - when I find him I’m going to demonstrate my new Fae strength by knocking some sense into him, until he promises never to leave me behind ever again. 

* * *

On the sixth day, I leave my room.

Even though I'm now moving about the house and sometimes into the grounds, when Lucien is with me, I don't join Tamlin for meals. It's not just to avoid conversation. I pick at the bread, cold cuts and fruit that are put in my room each day but I have no interest in food anymore and get no pleasure from eating. 

One warm spring afternoon, very like every other afternoon since my return, Tamlin appears in the drawing room doorway. I’m sitting in the bay window, watching the birds fly from hedge to hedge, but I drag my eyes away when he speaks.

"Feyre," he says and holds out his hand to me, though he is too far away for me to reach, "Come. We need to talk."

I do come, out of curiosity, but I avoid the hand he offers. I see the irritation that defiance causes. He _was_ patient at first… or at least for our first day back at the manor. Since then he has spoken to me with an increasing level of frustration as I mostly say nothing to him.

He wants something from me that I am no longer willing to give, even just the feel of his hand brushing my lower back as we walk makes me want to snarl. _I’m not yours._

He leads me to the library, a room I rarely visit, where a beautiful Fae female is waiting. 

"This is Iantha," he makes the most basic of introductions - she is a priestess and has returned to Prythian now it is safe again. _Thanks to me_ , I add silently. Then, without warning, he grips my arm and holds it out for the newcomer to see. I'm surprised at how tightly he holds my wrist, but then he hates everything to do with my tattoo. And it's maker. 

"Interesting. And what were the terms of the bargain?" she asks me, "His _exact_ words." 

I shrug, I have my own reasons for not wanting to talk about this. When they press me I claim to have forgotten and given how unwell I was at the time, it's a believable lie. 

It doesn't take long to understand that Iantha and Tamlin are seeking a way to break the bargain. I almost laugh! Rhysand could claim me whenever he felt like it with the mating bond as justification, the bargain is nothing.

But he hasn’t and maybe never will.... _I wouldn’t want you._

I picture his three steps down the balcony before he winnowed, that can’t be the last time… if I could just see him again.

My silence does not go unnoticed. Tamlin takes my shoulders in his large hands, shaking me gently. "I will do whatever I need to, to break this bargain." 

I stare up at him, expressionless. "Why?"

"Because you're not the same since we came home." 

My mouth drops open, "Did you really think I would be? I _died_ Tamlin." 

Colour blooms in his face and his eyebrows draw together, "You'd be able to heal if _this_ wasn't hanging over you." He takes my tattooed wrist in his hand again as he says 'this' but I pull away more swiftly this time. 

"I'm tired," I announce, "Nice to meet you Iantha." I nod to the priestess, avoid Tamlin's gaze, and then leave them in the library. 

But as I arrive back in my room I feel a new emotion bubbling up within me. Hope. Tamlin is right to remember the bargain - _one week of every month_. And it won't be long before a month will have elapsed since we winnowed away from that hateful mountain. I’ll get my chance to see Rhys after all.

I look down at the cat-like eye on my palm.

 _Soon_. Rhys will come for me in a fortnight and a week is surely long enough to work out whatever went wrong between us.

The bargain will make everything right. 

* * *

Tamlin has tried to get me to paint, to walk with him, and one hundred other suggestions but I always decline. He only sees the human girl who killed a faerie wolf and nothing else, wilfully ignoring what was done to me Under the Mountain.

Lucien is the only one here who truly sees the damage Amarantha has caused. Only when he looks at me with his one good eye do I feel accepted for the broken person I am now. There are times I almost tell him about Rhys and the mating bond but I can't be sure that he wouldn't go straight to Tamlin. 

“What do you want from me Feyre?” Tamlin snaps one day as Lucien tries to steer him away from me.

I let my anxiety answer as I obsessively scan the grounds, “What I want cannot be found anywhere in the Spring Court.”

In theory I could mean many things, the most obvious being my family in the human lands below the wall. But Tamlin seems to know what I'm really longing for. 

"You’re waiting for _him_. You're counting the days aren't you? He's inside your head Feyre - don't you see that? Rhysand is playing you like a fool!" 

He's wrong and yet he's also right. I can't argue with him without risking revealing more of the truth. But all the words I want to say burn inside me. My hands ball into fists so tight that my nails break the skin of my palms. And then-

We both look down as one.

The blood on my hands hisses and boils away. I uncurl my fingers and see the skin of my hands glowing with heat but they don't glow red, they glow _white_. Tamlin watches as I raise a hand until I can feel the air around my face grow hot and dry.

The shock breaks the moment. My hands quickly return to normal but Tamlin and Lucien exchange a meaningful look. Lucien's eyes, wider than usual, study me afresh as he recognises his own abilities in me. Fire from the Autumn Court.

* * *

That night I feel a change in the bond, the surprise of it almost has me dropping my shield to embrace the sense of _him_ I can feel at the far end of this last link between us. However, just because he doesn't guard against me, doesn't mean he'd welcome contact. I'm not strong enough to feel his rejection again so soon. And I'm angry that it has taken him so long to open the bond. 

So my shield stays up and I push my awareness of him to the back of my mind, holding back everything I need to say until we can talk in person.

* * *

By the end of the month, I spend my days glued to a window. Waiting. When the one month milestone passes, the despair hits me too hard to hide it.

Lucien realises first and tries to keep Tamlin away. But he doesn't delay the inevitable for long. Tamlin's laugh is a bark, sharp and cruel. "Do you see now Feyre? This is what he does. He plays with people."

I try to argue back and we spit poisoned words at one another until the floor is covered with a thin blanket of ice and I see fractal-like patterns forming on the wallpaper. My breath rises as a cloud before me and Tamlin swears, jumping away. 

"Enough!" he shouts, there is fear in his eyes and his fingers have sharpened into claws. I raise one hand and spread my awareness to the water vapour in the air; I feel it condense and then freeze, first into a rounded hilt and then extending upwards into a translucent blade. _Winter Court._

I must be cold but I don't feel it. "Go!" I say and Tamlin does, backing away with a look of horror.

Lucien stays and, slowly, he talks me down and guides me back to my room. Once the ice has gone, I am left wet, cold and shivering. "T- teach me." I force out from between clenched teeth. These lapses in control are only becoming more common. 

"He won't let me." Lucien does not meet my eyes. "Tamlin thinks if we can break the bargain then your powers will go." 

"w-w-what does-s the b-bargain have t-to do w-with it?" 

Lucien looks at me sadly but doesn't answer, instead he pulls me to him for a hug and warms me with his own abilities through the contact. I sigh gratefully, leaning into his heat, the tremors fading. 

When he pulls away Lucien gives me a steady look. "Come to dinner tomorrow. The distance between you and Tam isn't helping. Eat with us and talk it through." 

"I'll think about it." 

I don’t think for long; being around Tamlin only makes me more unstable.

* * *

I notice the flurry of activity and catch Lucien as he passes me on the stairs. "What's going on?"

"Rhysand is trying to call a meeting of the High Lords." 

"About Hyburn?" I immediately wish I hadn't asked. 

Lucien frowns, "What do you know about Hyburn?"

"Nothing." He's not convinced, I sigh and continue. "Rhys said something about Hyburn, while we were Under the Mountain but that's it, I swear."

"Tamlin's pissed at the others for jumping when Rhys tells them too, he's deliberately delaying the meeting."

"That's stupid."

Lucien lowers his voice, "Maybe it is but you'd be better off not saying that to Tamlin. Better yet, stay out of his way altogether." I don't miss the stern look as we part ways. I mull it over all afternoon and most of the day after. Rhys mentioned a war, could this be the beginning?

I can tell when a date for the meeting is finally set because Tamlin's mood gets worse. Still, I have a question I need to ask – one I've been considering since I first spoke to Lucien about this on the stairs. 

I join them for dinner and since it's been awhile both occupants of the room gape at me while I approach and take my seat. Lucien’s face is a warming to tread carefully, not one I need. Tamlin's face is on the brink of growing fur and fangs. 

We eat in silence, or they do. One mouthful is enough for my stomach, which has grown used to little nourishment. Just looking at the rich food on my plate makes me feel ill. 

"Why are you here?" Tamlin growls. 

"I wanted to talk about the meeting tomorrow." 

"What about the meeting?"

"Can I come with you?"

"No."

"OK," I say and force myself to eat a small square of potato. I've surprised them both but Tamlin's answer was so preidictable that I've had time to plan my response. "Will you tell me about it when you get back? I want to help."

"What do you mean help?" he asks slowly.

"Well, if there’s going to be a war-"

He interupts, "Who said anything about a war?" Tamlin's claws dig deep into the wooden table. 

"I- Rhys said-"

" _Rhysand_?" Tamlin springs over the table towards me and I fall back out of my chair, just managing to stay on my feet. He blocks the door so I edge towards the window. "That's why you want to come, you still want to see him!"

I can't bring myself to lie, not that it matters. He sees the truth written across my face.

His rage is worse than at any other time. It distorts his face, losing all human-like traits as he transforms into the beast I've only before seen fragments off. I'm deadly afraid but my feet won't move. I stare up at this male, who I once loved, and wonder if even he can stop himself now. 

Tamlin roars and all the furniture in the room begins to groan and fracture. Next to me, a side table splinters and a glass vase shatters. 

I cry out and throw up my arms but shards of wood and glass slice through skin and embed in my flesh. This could be it. I know he's unstable and far stronger than me. If he wants me dead, there is nothing I can do. 

Pain kicks in as shock subsides. Holding my injured arms away from my body, I fall sideways and land with a crash. I look up to see Tamlin changing back. Regret etched into every inch of his face as he looks at the blood seeping through my clothing in multiple places. 

" _Feyre_ ," he reaches for me but collides with a barrier of wind. _Magic_ \- I'd forgotten my magic. Too late to save me from his anger, it now steps in to give me time and space to heal. 

The world outside my bubble is muted. I can see Tamlin begging to be let in and Lucien once more trying to put himself between us. The cuts, mostly across my arms and neck, are all now beginning to mend. Tissue stitching itself back together, scars forming and fading.

The fear finally leaves me and a numbness takes its place. 

And as the healing continues, I feel a different kind of pain - distance and not physical, the pain of self-loathing, a deep distress coming down the bond. _Rhys_. 

I don't have the strength to answer. Here in my bubble of calm, I experience his suffering mixing with my own. And I wonder... what if _I_ was the trigger for his distress? Could I have dropped my shield without meaning to? And if so, does this mean I was right all along?

He does love me after all.


	8. Hyburn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to split POV in each chapter from here.

**Feyre**

I am on edge the whole time Tamlin is away. I wring my hands and pace and argue constantly with myself on whether or not to open the bond.

He felt me last night, as my body was damaged by Tamlin's rage and then allowed to heal behind a shield of wind.

Rhys' reaction hurt more than the cuts and bruises had. I heard his wordless cry and in a flash I saw the night sky above him and a city below.

I don’t think he saw through my eyes - I don’t think he was even aware that I was linked with him again. But I do know he felt regret over leaving me and guilt for my pain. And love.

He might be miles and miles away but my mate loves me.

So do I ease his suffering and rebuild that bridge between us? At times I’m sure I need to do just that - I can’t knowingly let him worry or continue believing that I blame him for what's happened.

But is right in the middle of the High Lord’s meeting the best moment to tell him any of that? Especially given that Tamlin will be watching his every move, watching to see if he’s right about me. 

So I pace and mutter to myself and twist my fingers until Lucien takes me firmly by the shoulders and does the last thing I expect. He hugs me, holding me until I stop struggling and give in to his embrace.

“He’ll be ok,” I’m about to challenge him when he chuckles, “He’s the strongest High Lord in history, I think he can cope with a meeting.”

I stare at him. “But Tamlin-”

“ _Isn’t_ who you’re waiting for.” I can't smile, or contradict him or in fact say anything at all. But I feel braver, with Lucien beside me, and calm enough to sit down now and wait.

He’s right, I’m not waiting for Tamlin. I’m waiting to know it is safe to call out to Rhys.

* * *

Tamlin returns as the sun falls below the treeline, sending narrow fingers of shadows reaching through the grounds right up to the Manor.

He sneers at my anxious face as he passes me on the steps, but says nothing. I can’t wait any longer, “How was the meeting?”

He laughs a humourless laugh, “Ask what you _really_ want to know.”

With Lucien there for support, or maybe as my witness, I follow Tamlin inside and ask, “Was Rhys there?”

“ _Rhys_.” He mocks and then pours a drink for himself and a second for me, “Have a drink Feyre, we both need one.” I take the glass, cold from the amber liquid it now contains, but I don’t drink. “Cheers,” he says, knocking our glasses together.

He sighs as I continue to watch him, unmoving. “He didn't ask about you, if that's what you're really asking. And why _would_ he ask about you? You were a means to an end Feyre, nothing more.”

His words are so close to what Rhys himself told me that I burn inside.

With a scowl, I drain my glass and as I drink I realise two things. Firstly that he never offered Lucien a drink, though he has been with us the whole time. And secondly, his own drink still stands untouched.

Tamlin’s smile is unpleasant – nasty in a way I’ve never seen him be before. It is Lucien who asks, “What have you done?” He takes the glass from my hand and sniffs. My friend’s face contorts with rage, “Faebane?”

“And a sedative,” Tamlin says, carefully pouring his own drink away. I’m beginning to feel odd – a mixture of faint and weak. “I need a few days away and I suspect that their bargain gives Feyre a way to contact the Lord of Night. He _knew_ something had happened, I could see it in his eyes. So this was the only way to make sure she would be here when I get back.”

My tongue feels too large for my mouth, slurring my words, “Where… you goin’?”

Tamlin comes closer and with both hands pushes me down onto a chair. “Your Rhysand,” he replies, mocking once more, “Gave me the idea. He told us all something interesting today, something about Hyburn and about the great power he wields - enough to break your bargain I’d guess. So I’m going to make a bargain of my own.”

I’m starting to lose the fringes of my vision and the details of his face, still so close to mine.

I see his expression change though, before the darkness swallows me; I see him turn almost tender and press a kiss to my cheek.

“I’ll get you back Feyre, I promise.”

**Rhys**

I listen to my Inner Circle take turns explaining what they have discovered and each newly revealed secret only sinks me further into despair. 

Cassian tells me that Hyburn's army continues to wait offshore but seems to drift slowly south every day. 

My first thought isn't of the wall and the many human settlements that stand unprotected. It's isn't even of the southern courts, all the fae who sleep unaware that danger is returning to their shores so soon. It is of Feyre. I allowed her to return with Tamlin for the safety he offered, as long as our secret connection remains just that - secret. 

Instead I have pushed her towards an unstable male and an army the likes of which she cannot possibly imagine. 

Az and Mor between them tell me of the deaths at multiple temples. Temples that have been places of pilgrimage and religious significance since before written record. Places where priestesses have lived simple, peaceful lives in semi-isolation for centuries. Only to die in violence and pain. 

It is Amren who tells me what had been hidden in these places of peace. The three feet of the Cauldron, an item I am happy to admit I'd thought lost to the past. If only it could have _remained_ lost. 

My hands reach for my head. I anchor my fingers deep in my hair, pulling at the roots. "What does it mean?" 

Mor answers for the group, "It means Hyburn wanted the missing parts enough to lose the element of surprise. It means he thinks we cannot stand against a complete Cauldron, even if all seven courts stand together." 

I look to Amren, "Is he right?" She doesn't need to answer, her silence is enough.

At our meeting earlier, which none of the others have asked me about, I'd told the collected High Lords that Hyburn was a force greater than Amarantha ever had been. That he could and would destroy us without a thought, if we gave him that chance. 

Maybe he didn't need us to give him a chance. Maybe H) e can destroy us all for the fun of it and move swiftly on to the continent. 

They've all finished speaking. I can feel the weight of expectation on my shoulders. I'm no stranger to being their High Lord but for the last fifty years serving my court has meant sacrificing myself. That won't be enough now. 

"Leave me." 

Azriel catches my eye as he goes but the others look away. I need time to think and I need them elsewhere while I do it. 

With the room and balcony to myself, I pour a drink and find a chair. 

And to my disgust, as soon as I am alone I allow my other fear to rise within me.

I review every conversation from the High Lord's meeting, every discussion and debate until I am certain my gut feeling was correct: Tamlin never spoke. The one court representative most likely to argue, to shout me down just because it was _me_ bringing them the news - but he never said a word. 

Instead, he listened and watched me while others spoke. I don't understand what it means but I know it's not good.

Not good for Feyre.

**Feyre**

The sedative wears off long before I feel the first signs of magic returning. Nothing strong enough to fight or find Rhys though, not even enough to reach out along the bond - the bond that I cannot even feel my end of. 

I felt sick when I woke and, trapped in a state of anxiety since, I have not been able to eat.

Lucien has stayed with me. He won’t speak about Tamlin’s actions, I think he is still trying to find a way to justify them – some loop hole that means he doesn’t need to choose between us.

Tamlin has trapped me within a ward, which means I can stand on first of the steps leading out of the Manor into the grounds, but can go no further.

At least I can feel the breeze on my cheeks and look up as the sun's light is fractured into one hundred separate beams of light breaking through the clouds.

Into one of these spotlights, Tamlin and three others winnow. Lucien must recognise them because he stumbles back with a gasp. He grips my wrist and urges me inside.

As I follow him, I test my magic but come up wanting. Though I have never been able to control the power now dormant within me, I’d feel much better knowing it was still there _somewhere_ , waiting to be called.

Tamlin brings his guests inside and once introductions are made I find my response is similar to Lucien’s. Like spring immediately after a late cold snap, the Manor feels like it is suddenly surrounded by death. 

“Why,” I ask slowly and quietly, “Would you bring the King of Hyburn here?”

Hyburn answers me directly, “I am here to break your bargain with Rhysand.” Once he has finished speaking he turns away, dismissing me from his interest. He begins to speak in hushed tones to the male and female with him, who stand with a covered object between them. Their features are similar enough to one another for me to guess that they are siblings, maybe even twins.

My head begins to ache but I’m not done with Tamlin, “He wanted a way into Prythian and now you’ve given him one. How could you be such a fool?” I hiss.

But he never gets the chance to answer because a bodiless voice brings an end to all conversation. _Feyre._ The hairs on my arms lift and the pain in my head intensifies.

Everyone looks at me, including the king who now has hunger in his gaze.

A moment of silence stretches infinitely. 

“I want to change the terms of our bargain.” Though he speaks to Tamlin his eyes never leave me, “I will end her bargain _and_ end Rhysand too, if she helps me with the Cauldron.”

Lucien has gone death-white and moans quietly. Even Tamlin has the decency to look a little ill. But I look past them all as Hyburn’s associates lift the cloth to reveal an ancient cauldron.

 _Feyre_. It calls to me again.

“No, never,” I whisper. I may not understand what I’m seeing but I understand the power of that object, so great that it almost distorts the air around it.

“Done,” Tamlin speaks over me.

“Tam!” Lucien begins but that voice makes his voice grow silent.

_Lady of many faces._

Hyburn laughed, a low, dry laugh and gestured to the Cauldron, “Take it away for now.” The two Fae winnow with it between them. They were gone for a moment and then return, without the Cauldon.

I feel the relief of its absence so deeply I could cry. Then Hyburn speaks again to me and I do cry.

“Call Rhysand.”

“No!”

“You have a link with him via your bargain. Call him or Dagdan and Brannagh will _make_ you call him. I promise you, the twins will make sure the second option is much more painful.”

With tears blinding me, I repeated my answer, “No! No, never.”

The two Fae step forwards, their matching smiles saying clearly how they’d been hoping I would choose this way.

My only consolation is the look of frustrated surprise when both their mental attacks bounce off my internal defences. They don't wait long before trying again though and Hyburn was right, the pain is dreadful.

**Rhys**

I hadn't reached out to her mind, forever wearing darkness and shadow. I have held a hand to her shield, now too thick for her to sense me through it, but I've never tried to breach her defences. 

I won't take her privacy, I won't take _anything_ that isn't offered. Yet I keep watch from outside, always aware. 

So the moment her shield shakes, right down to its foundation, I am ready to winnow. I've left her to face our enemies alone for too long and now that I know Hyburn is close to the Spring Court I will not wait any longer.

Ideally I'd like to know my arrival isn't unwanted but if it comes to it, I will intervene first and ask questions later. 

Mor and Cassian notice my shift in concentration first. 

The second vibration takes down enough of her internal wall for me to feel her pain and fear leaking through it. 

She feels me too. 

_Rhys! Stay away_. Her voice is directionless, she tells the whole universe to leave her, to stay safe, because she cannot find me through her pain.

I am undeserving of this mate who puts me first after all I have said and done. I call back to her and then winnow, like I could _ever_ leave her again. 

My Inner Circle's voices go unheard as I leave them all behind.

When I appear in Tamlin’s dining room, I see Feyre’s look of pure despair and hear her voice again, silently begging me to go. 

Time is slow as I take her in, as I speak to her mind-to-mind like we've never been apart.

Then pain erupts in my leg. 

**Feyre**

I'd have known the moment from Dagdan and Brannagh's triumph alone - the moment my mental wall falls. My mind is too tired to gather the pieces, too weak to push them back into place. 

I feel the full weight of failure a few seconds later. 

_Feyre!_

_No. No._ It's all I can send back and it's too late anyway, I can feel him winnowing, feel the distance between us shrinking. 

Then Rhys appears in the dining room, unaware of the others behind him. He stares as though he is the starving man and I am the banquet. His eyes run over every inch of my face and then up and down my body. I'm no better, my eyes drink in every half-forgotten detail. 

But then I remember. 

_It's a trap! You need to leave - now!_

His lips twitch upward a fraction. Not quite a smile. _No. I shouldn't have left you before. I'm not leaving you again._

 _I-_ I'm not sure what I was going to say but Hyburn aims a crossbow at Rhys and as the arrow tears through his leg I can see that it is ash. 

Rhys grunts and drops to one knee, but a second arrow is already flying - also ash. The third is close behind. 

I can feel his pain as if it were my own. I stumble forward, my arms wrapping around his shoulders, trying to hold him up and shield him from further arrows.

But it's no good, I can feel him slipping away from me and I can sense Hyburn moving behind me – moving to end the bargain and my mate with one final strike. 

_Please_ , I beg the universe, _please take us away from here_. I go to move, to drag Rhys away but as I take a step, our surrounding blur and change. 

One glance at Rhys' pale and drawn face says that it is _me_ who has managed to winnow - he’s out cold and unaware.

Though it feels like walking up to my waist through thick mud, I take another step. The trees around us change in every way possible - shape, size, colour and number. When we next stop, they are short and bent almost sideways by the wind. On either side, tall mountains lean over us, trapping us forever in their shadow.

A cold terror settles inside me, which has nothing to do with the way Rhys is now breathing in shallow rattling gasps. _Just one more step_ , I tell myself. One more step away from these mountains. One more step closer to safety and then we can stop.

At least, I hope we are moving closer to safety. I have no idea where we are, just that it's not _there_. 

The next step really is my last; it takes all of my remaining strength. I collapse and Rhys falls with me. I twist my arms tightly around his neck and press close to his body. I may not be able to protect him but no one will part us now. 

And then I know nothing more.


	9. Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your comments, kudos and support :) it's such a good feeling, knowing this is being read and liked.  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, more angst I'm afraid but if you haven't noticed that's sort of my thing!  
> Etta

**Feyre**

I wake, still flush against Rhys, and for a moment everything is perfect - we're together, my arms around his neck, his scent surrounding me... and then the ugly truth slaps me in the face.

Judging by the sun, maybe as little as an hour has passed. I'm still exhausted but we can't stay out here; further rest will have to wait. 

I check Rhys head-to-toe and find that all three of Hyburn's arrows are still embedded in his flesh and each of the wounds is still bleeding. Heavily. I need to remove the arrows but we need shelter too. Biting my lip, I hesitate. 

I choose shelter first, not knowing how long tending to his wound will take and knowing he will need my full attention - I cannot be looking over my shoulder, watching for signs that Hyburn has found us. 

Though I hate to leave Rhys, it can't be helped. The ten minutes we are parted feels longer than all the weeks since Under the Mountain. Thankfully ten minutes is long enough to find a cave, with signs of having been lived in but nothing to suggest it is currently occupied. 

Despite the benefit of my new Fae strength, he is a dead weight in my arms and I take extra care not to jostle the arrows as I move him, so it takes another ten minutes to bring Rhys to the mouth of the cave.

And then I rest briefly, collecting any firewood in sight, before taking my mate inside and removing those arrows. _Ash arrows_. He wakes from the pain as each arrow is broken and then removed in two parts. He is sweating and panting but doesn't show any awareness that I am here. 

I apologise over and over as I work; there are unshed tears in my eyes too. But now those arrows are gone, his Fae body should heal itself. Right? 

* * *

Night has fallen and my little fire has burnt down to embers. There is no more wood and I'm shaking too hard to build the fire back up. I need sleep. 

Rhys is also shaking, like a continuous vibration. Maybe it is just the darkness but I'm not seeing much healing. 

_You were too late._

It's a horrible and unhelpful thought. Tears drip down my face and off my nose as I look down at my mate. 

_This is all my fault._

"I'm sorry," I say, dropping to my knees and then lying close behind him. I press my damp face against his back, folding one arm to act as my pillow and tucking my bent legs in close behind his. I've got only my body heat to offer now but he can have it all. 

"Please, Rhys," I whisper, though I know he is beyond being able to hear me, "I need you." 

**Rhys**

Pain - in waves from my shoulder, my side and both legs. Each competing for my attention. 

The cold floor of a cave leeches the heat out of my body. I can see the remains of a fire but I cannot reach it. I can barely move, every muscle tensed from the pain. 

I try to stretch my arm only to groan with agony, the movement ripping the wound at my shoulder further open. I feel the fresh warmth of blood. _Why won't it heal?_

The sound of my groan brings an arm looping over my ribs, high enough to avoid the injury there. A pale long fingered hand rests above my heart. I slowly become aware of the figure behind me, the slight rise and fall of a chest. And the pain softens.

Everything else might be wrong, but my mate is here. We are together. 

I sleep. 

**Feyre**

My body is stiff with cold when I wake but the laboured breathing of my mate gets me up faster than I would otherwise have managed. He needs the fire. He probably needs a lot of things but fire first. 

I hurry. The entrance to our cave is reasonably well hidden but I don't want to be gone for long and I don't want him to wake up without me. 

With arms full of wood, I return. Rhys is still sleeping so I revive the fire and look over his wounds. They still refuse to heal and his face is twisted with pain. 

I spend what is left of the morning trying to make Rhys more comfortable, checking each of the three wounds carefully because _surely_ I have missed some of the ash - what else could be stopping the wounds clotting? But I find nothing and can only make fresh dressings from my skirt, hoping for the bleeding to stop. 

By mid afternoon, I have lapsed into silent thought. Never would I have believed I could feel so lonely with Rhysand beside me. I'm more frightened than I was when I was dying Under the Mountain - dying is easy, being the one left behind is unimaginable. 

The one and only success of today is that I have learned from last night's mistake - I have heaps of wood and will keep the fire burning until Rhys wakes up. 

And he _will_ wake. Soon. 

I take turns sitting by the fire, watching his pallid face for any change, and lying close behind him, where I can feel each breath and the tremor beneath them. 

But as day turns to night again, I still do not sleep. I couldn't sleep now, even if a bed suddenly appeared against the wall of the cave. In trying to save us, I may have simply drawn out the end. My mate is suffering because of me. 

* * *

The next day is physically and mentally even more of a struggle. My body may not be injured but it's a long time since I ate and nearly as long since I had anything to drink. 

Rhys must need food and water too but my legs are stiff and cramp as I walk. I worry that if I leave the cave to find food I won't make it back to him. 

I need him to wake. _Rhys_. The bond is silent from his side. Crouching at Rhys' side I talk and talk until my throat is hoarse. I tell him where we are (the little I know), how much I hate Hyburn and those twins, how much I need him to get better. Yet nothing seems to reach him.

In all my worrying for Rhys, I spare half a thought for Lucien, left behind with Tamlin's rage and the guests from across the sea. 

And that Cauldron... I'm convinced that I'd be having nightmare solely about that voice, calling to me - if I were sleeping, that is. 

* * *

Early on the third morning, I am back at the fireside. I've had no sleep, fretting over Rhys' condition, which is significantly worse than yesterday. 

I'm now considering hunting the Suriel for answers. Even though I'm weak from not eating, in unfamiliar surroundings and just the thought of leaving Rhys undefended makes my heart feel like it is being forced from my chest. 

I sit and stir the fire as I think, weighing the options. But the truth is that I'm _out_ of options. 

That I have paused for a moment is the only reason I notice the shadows. 

The flickering light of the fire casts figures of darkness that dance across the walls. Shadows that leap and dive, twist and turn. 

But mixing with these is a second set of shadows. Ones that creep closer, moving only when I'm turned away, when they think I'm not looking. 

When they _think_? I am going mad, shadows cannot think. And yet more of this second sort of shadow is gathering at the mouth of the cave. 

Moving casually, I lean over Rhys and draw the only weapon he has on him, a sword. It is too long and heavy for me and I can't see what good it will do against shadows but.. 

_I will not let them take him._

Just as the growing darkness seems to extinguish the light from the fire, a heavily armed figure appears in the arched entrance. I see wings like a bat's spread wide, blocking my escape, and a blue glow coming for several points on his body. 

The male steps closer, our eyes locked, never parting. I set all emotions aside, especially fear. Hyburn has come for Rhys, for us, but I won't go down without a fight. I stand and hold the sword ready, amazed at how steady my arm is thanks to the adrenaline pumping through me. "You're not welcome here. Go now, my fight is not with you." My voice also stays steady. 

"I've come for the High Lord, stand aside and you can live." His voice is smooth and deadly quiet. 

"No," I even manage a grim smile, bearing my newly pointed teeth, "He's _mine_." 

The shadowed figure draws a long blade of his own, it glows faintly in the same shade of blue. "Very well." 

He lunges and I get my sword up in time to block the blow, though the force of it sends me to my knees. I see surprise on his face - at how fast I have fallen. 

Wrapped in shadow he tries to walk past me, but I'm not done. I kick out with both feet and catch one shin - a glancing blow, enough to slow him down but not enough to stop him. 

I spring to my feet, jumping backwards and closer to Rhys - putting myself between him and the intruder. The sword is up again, I'm ready. The male lets out a huff that might have been a laugh and then grips my shoulder with his free hand and throws me against the cave wall. Hard. The whole thing happens so fast I don't even cry out as I crash into unforgiving rock. 

Everything spins. Up and down swap places. The sword is gone, lost in the fall. I blink but now there are three blue glowing figures and each one carries-

"No! You can't take him!" 

But the figure and the shadows are retreating, taking Rhys with them. 

Light blinds me as the once-smothered fire roars back into life. It makes my head throb. I stagger towards the entrance but half way there my legs give way. 

On hands and knees I throw up and then crawl towards the daylight, knowing what I'll find when I get there... 

He's gone. 

**Rhys**

I am forced roughly back into consciousness as dressings are ripped off and skilled fingers probe each injury. That they are rushing tells me how serious this is. 

An ointment in my wounds burns for a few seconds before the pain reduces to a dull ache. And then, finally, I feel my body starting to heal. The relief is furthered by the familiar smells around me and the faint voices of my family. I'm home. I relax back into a bed, my bed, and let sleep come for me again.

As I slip from consciousness a vague worry grips me, my empty stomach clenches - there is something I've forgotten. Something important… 

Or _someone_?

**Feyre**

The dappled light beneath the tree vanishes. For the second time today I see the sentient shadows arriving, this time while lying less than a meter from a pool of my own vomit. 

I watch, almost curious as these small fingers of darkness link together to form a living chain. I keep watching as the chain approaches, slowly, as if it is expecting me to run. But I don't run. I haven't moved for hours. 

Nothing matters now. Hyburn has Rhys. Only a faint pulse along the bond tells me that he is still alive. When that fades to nothing, I'm hoping I'll die too. I deserve to die now for defending my mate so poorly. 

So this chain wrapping around my ankles and slowly twisting up my legs means nothing. I have nothing left to lose. 

The same male who took Rhys stops at my side and rolls me over with his foot. He looks at me with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. "You failed."

" _Obviously_ ," I snarl, the chain now sliding across my collarbone, as smooth as silk and as cold as melted ice. 

He shakes his head and then lifts me half over his shoulder, the shadow chain restricting my movement so much that I can't even wriggle. I watch huge wings stretch out on either side of my head and scream as the male launches us high into the air.


	10. House of Wind

**Feyre**

I let myself go limp in the arms of the winged Fae carrying me. 

I have no way of knowing how convincing my acting is but the sentient chain seems fooled at least, loosening its grip on me slightly. It's not enough to get free but enough for my chest to expand more easily as I breathe. 

Pretending to be out cold, I watch through my eyelashes as the male lands and approaches a hidden entrance. My heart stops. An entrance to a mountain. 

_No. No, please. I can't do this again._

Not that I have a choice.

My mostly-closed eyes take several seconds to adjust to the gloom. Torches in brackets line the passageway and soon I can make out carvings on the walls; hideous and obscene carvings showing scenes that seamlessly blend violence with erotic acts. 

I don’t remember any of this but it’s still horribly familiar... How little I saw of this place in all the months she kept me Under the Mountain. How much Rhys must have sheltered me from. 

There will be no one to shelter me this time - not from Hyburn and not from that Cauldron. 

The blue warrior moves without a sound, perfectly in control of every muscle and sense - I can be impressed while still hating his guts. 

Soon, I know, we will arrive at a cell. Maybe even the same cell as before. I need to decide how to behave when we arrive. I run through as many scenarios as I can, trying to decide if I should fight or continue to fain sleep. 

"I know you're awake."

I stiffen. Can he read minds the way Rhys can? Silently, I call this Fae every foul name I've ever heard and wait for a reaction. It doesn’t come. "How did you know?" I demand but he doesn't answer. 

I can't see his face as he carries me over one shoulder. Just as well - if I _could_ see him I know I would be spitting in his face right now, damn the consequences. Maybe even to _bring on_ the consequences – I know I won’t leave this place alive a second time.

The sound of a rusty door being kicked open reminds me what is about to happen. I can't fake sleep but I can still fight. 

The warrior dumps me in a heap on the damp floor and a cold drip from the ceiling immediately lands on my neck. 

Somehow I find the strength to push myself back up onto shaking legs and growl. He tuts and knocks me down with a well-placed kick. 

Before I can think of getting up again, there is a blade at my throat. Shadows fold in close around us but somehow the black-hilted hunting knife illuminates his face. 

The blade is a promise against my neck; he need only slide it across my skin to end my life. 

When he speaks, each word is impossibly quiet. “I am spymaster here and a shadowsinger. When I come back, you will answer my questions. Until then you _will not move_.”

As I watch him leave the cell, I feel the weight of all I have lost. I won't beg but I have to ask, "Where is Rhys?" 

The shadowsinger stops without turning. I can feel him considering my question but then he snaps, "When I return, _I_ shall be asking the questions, not you. Remember that."

I listen to his footsteps echo. I know he can walk silently so does he let the sound ring to unsettle me? Or because I have unsettled him? 

There is food, some stale bread, and water in a trough at one side of the cell. I wonder how long the bread has sat here, whether it’s been here since the last time this cell was occupied.

That bread will out last me. My body complains at the lack of food but I won't extend my life when Rhys will soon be gone. 

I can still feel him, just. His end of the bond is subdued as though he is sedated, which makes no sense. Hyburn was willing to kill Rhys at Tamlin's Manor, yet he's had hours now to end my mate and hasn't. I can only hope that Hyburn isn’t planning something worse than death.

I withdraw my hands into my sleeves and pull my knees into my chest, curling in on myself. Even though I close my eyes, I won't sleep. My full attention is on the bond.

If anything happens, if Rhys dies, I want to know. 

**Rhys**

I wake to the view of my bedroom at the House of Wind and a hard blow to my upper arm. Hard enough to bruise. 

"Don't you _ever_ do that to us again," Morrigan snarls. As she moves again, I flinch away, in case a second punch is about to land. But she's done hitting me it seems and throws her arms around my neck. 

The bone crushing hug is no better than the punch but I’ve worried her by disappearing alone, so I deserve it. If we cling to each other a little too tightly these days, it is only because our family has lost so much in the past. 

Over Mor's shoulder I can see Cassian and Azriel also watching me. Also pissed, judging by their matching frowns. Yet I'm home and I no longer feel like I'm dying. Other than a few aches, all is good. 

When Mor lets go of me, I give them all an apologetic smile. "I’m sorry, really, but we got back ok, so no harm done?" 

_We_. 

Something nags at me.

I wade back through my memories of the last few days, but recalling specific events feels like fishing in treacle. Then I find _her_ face and everything comes back at once. 

My eyes sweep the room again, "Where's Feyre?" 

Mor freezes beside me and my brothers only look back in confusion. Nobody answers. 

I scramble for the bond and find only fading waves of pain at her end. _She's hurt?_ I'm _safe_ and she's _hurt_? 

"Where. Is. Feyre?" My voice is cold this time because someone in this room _must_ know what has happened. 

When I still get no answer I swing out of bed, despite Mor's protests, summoning tendrils of deepest night as I move. 

"Where is my _mate_!" I roar and look at each face in turn until one pair of eyes shows me what I am searching for - understanding and regret and fear. 

Darkness explodes as I cross the room, leaving only Azriel and I. "Show me," I demand and he nods. 

I enter his mind, with none of my usual care, and watch it all: the cave, the fight, her weakness and desperation, him wrapping her in chains and threatening her with truth-teller. And finally, leaving her at the Court of Nightmares, after everything she went through Under the Mountain. 

I drop to my knees. _Feyre_. 

One step in front of me, Az drops to his knees too. He bows his head, "I'm sorry." And he waits; he expects to be punished. 

My anger fades to anguish. I reach out for him - my brother - and pull him to me. The darkness dissipates. 

I shouldn't have gone alone. I shouldn't have gone without explanation. I shouldn't have kept Feyre's existence from my brother's. I should have kept my mate safe.

"Take me to her," I whisper, the fight gone out of me. 

Az is helping me back to my feet when Cassian sharply says, "No."

It is his turn to be on the receiving end of my snarl but still Cassian moves to block the door. "The Court of Nightmares mustn't see you like this Rhys. We will fetch her; you need to stay with Mor."

Az slips out from under my arm as Mor takes my weight in his place. With my teeth still bared at Cass, I glance at Azriel. His eyes are lowered and his posture submissive. I know I could demand anything of Az and the shadowsinger would grant my request – he would take me against Cassian’s advice. 

Yet I also know that Cass is right. I grind my teeth but nod. They disappear quickly from the room. 

**Feyre**

Despite not intending to sleep, I wake in the arms of a different Fae, with the same bat-like wings but a red glow to his armour. 

He holds me gently and that is his first mistake. Before he can notice I’ve woken, I break free of his grip. I hit the ground and roll, staying low and hissing up at him.

The shadowsinger is here too, a blue glow to my right. 

They speak but I hear as though from underwater - sounds but no words. The red warrior approaches and I slash at his face with my nails. The blue warrior tries to pin me from behind but I twist away. 

It may be my final stand but it is over too quickly. They take an arm each, pressing into me on either side and almost carrying me at times, when I refuse to walk and kick instead. 

They walk, then they winnow and finally they fly me to a balcony, to a room beyond.

To _Rhys_. 

I can't believe what I'm seeing. I can't believe that they drop their hold on me a moment later. Rhys is speaking but, as before, I cannot hear. 

He has a stick, which he leans on heavily. My visions is blurred but I can see pain flickering across his face. 

I see surprise too, when I push Rhys back against a large bed behind him and take the stick. With a weapon once more in my hands I turn back to Red and Blue with a snarl. I swipe at Blue first, for taking Rhys from me, but my own momentum knocks me down. Up again just seconds later, in a room that spins on more than one axis, I lunge at Red and snarl in his direction. 

Vaguely, I notice that both winged Fae hold out empty hands towards me. _A trick?_ And then Rhys' arms wrap around me, one at my waist, the other higher. He traps my arms; the stick falls. 

I can feel his warmth behind me and I shudder at the contact, at the relief of being near him again.

He holds me firmly as he shouts and, though his voice is a physical assault on my skull, this time I hear every single word. 

**Rhys**

"Everyone get out! Now!" 

Cass and Az have no weapons, they've spoken softly and tried to explain. But down the bond I can feel how little of this Feyre understands. 

And I could see how close to collapsing she was _before_ she picked a fight with my brother's, two of Prythian's strongest warriors. To defend me. Now I hold her, for her own safety. 

I turn her in my arms. As my family leaves, Feyre watches in confusion. Watches them do as I've said and I catch a glimpse of Hyburn in her mind; I realise who she must have thought had captured us. 

"Feyre. You're safe, we're safe."

Her face breaks and with it my heart. I let her go, even if it hurts as she sways and steps away from me. I want her to feel free, for the fear to end. Her eyes move between me, the door and the balcony so fast I can't keep up. And then she passes out. 

I'm too far away to catch her and still too weak to take her weight. I fall to my knees next to my mate and pull her into my lap. I hold her limp body close, telling myself over and over that she will get better. We'll be ok.

I soothed myself with the feel of her faint pulse as I press my lips to her neck and after my tears have stopped, I push a thought to Mor.

My cousin is back in the room and beside us instantly. "Would you like me to put her on the bed?" 

"Yes." I don't thank Mor for the way she phrased the question, for not making me ask her to lift my mate for me. Together we get Feyre settled. My eyes never leave her, even when I scent Az and Cass in the doorway and send them away with a snarl. 


	11. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay and I hope this is fluffy enough for those of you who requested a break from the angst.

**Rhys**

With a bowl of warm water and a sponge, I clean her skin. Washing away the sweat and the dirt, the cell and the cave, as though none of it happened. But finding new scrapes and dried blood reminds me that I still don’t know what exactly has happened.

I remember Tamlin’s Manor and I’ve seen Azriel’s memory of retrieving her from the cave but everything between those moments is hazy at best and rife with unanswered questions.

The only person I allow into our room for any length of time is Mor. Though I can see her watching and can almost hear her accusing me of fussing, I also know my cousin understands. Feyre is my _mate_. 

It takes much patience on Mor's part to convince me to allow Nuala in, to examine Feyre. In the end, I am grateful for the few whispered words from the wraith, telling me there is no physical, lasting damage.

Still, I don't sleep; no matter how many times I am told that Feyre is simply weakened by lack of food and rest, that she will wake when she's ready, I cannot help but worry. 

Until my mate is restored to full health, I will watch over her. Even though, selfishly, all I want is for her to wake, I know she needs this time. I can be patient.

I've point-blank refused to take a sleep tonic and I have turned away a second tonic, meant to lessen my pain. Where the medication dulls my thinking, the pain makes me sharper and my senses clearer. 

Mor would have fought me on that decision had it not been for the mating bond making me unpredictable. I’ve snapped at everyone, including her, and my magic is a constant physical presence in the room - a darkness too dense for any to see through but me, collecting in corners and around the bed. 

I will not apologise.

I will protect what is mine, especially while she cannot protect herself.

**Feyre**

When I wake, I find myself still in the room with a balcony but now settled on the bed. It is darker but the room is unchanged. And Rhys is still with me.

His eyes are waiting when I look over, into his anxious face. He looks exhausted. I briefly wonder why he isn't taking this opportunity to sleep, until I remember our time in the cave and how little I slept then. 

My mate.

It's still a shock, every time the thought hits me. I feel lighter and stronger and complete. It's not a feeling I ever expected, not what I deserve, but I’ll take every moment as the gift that it is.

 _Where are we?_ I ask without words. 

_The Night Court._ He smiles and adds aloud, "You brought us home."

I don't know if it is the word 'us' or the word 'home' that brings tears to my eyes, but I don't fight them. Rhys holds me gently against him and rocks us, wiping my cheeks. He lets me cry without rushing me, which only makes me cry more – how could _my_ mate be this kind and patient male?

When I sit up, I feel Rhys holding himself back, waiting, giving me space. Once I am upright, leaning back into the pillows, I reach out a hand to him - we both need the contact. 

The feel of his rough hand holding mine, his fingers brushing over my skin, soothes a part of my soul. 

“How are your wounds?”

He shakes his head at my worrying, "I'm fine."

"You weren't fine." I don't trust myself to continue out loud, _Last time I saw you, you were dying._

Rhys leans in, resting his forehead against mine. He is close enough for me to count every variation of purple contained in his eyes. And to see the pain he carries. 

“You saved me Feyre. You got me to safety when I couldn't protect either myself or you. The arrows were not just ash, they were tipped in poison.” 

It’s not something I hadn’t guessed but my chest tightens painfully all the same. Rhys puts a hand to my cheek and waits for my breathing to stabilise. 

_You winnowed us to the only place where help would find us. Azriel brought me here, to the House of Wind, and now I'm well_. 

I break eye contact for a quick glance down to his freshly bandaged wounds. I note the way he sits – favouring his right side. I raise my eyebrows.

 _Almost well,_ he concedes, _a little more rest and I'll be good as new._

"Azriel,” I test out the sound of the name, which will now replace 'blue warrior' in my head. Rhys' face changes subtly and I realised that Azriel may be in trouble for what happened in the cave. "I didn't tell him that you were my mate. I thought he had been sent by Hyburn."

"You did nothing wrong." His voice is colder. 

“ _Rhys_ ,” I emphasise his name, drawing his eyes back to mine. "He didn't either. We both treated the other as an enemy. But he didn’t hurt me.”

"You should eat." I see through his less than subtle attempt to change the subject but I don't challenge him on it. To my relief, I notice some of his tension easing, though it still lingers a little in his shoulders and jaw. 

A plate, overflowing with fruit and cheese and small pastries, is placed on my lap. All the food is bite sized and slowly I make a dent in the supply, pausing often to allow my stomach to adjust.

I'm aided by Rhys, who claims not to be hungry while taking food whenever he thinks I'm not aware. He favours the pastries, I notice. 

While I eat, I fire questions at Rhys about his court and his life here - fitting his answers together with the scraps of information he gave me Under the Mountain and with what I see around me.

"Can I look outside?" 

I see Rhys look down at the plate of food, trying to calculate just how much I have eaten. Before he can insist on me eating more, I say, "I need to move around, Rhys. Just a short break from eating, _please_?" 

I flutter my eyelashes and smile up at him. Rhys snorts, “A short break.”

I wouldn’t make it to the balcony without his arm around my waist but it is also a convenient excuse, I don’t want to loose the contact between us.

It’s worth the walk. “Oh Rhys, your Court...” The stunning view leaves me speechless, _It’s beautiful._

_Wait until you see Velaris._

**Rhys**

I stand behind Feyre with my face pressed to her hair. I’m not interested in view beyond her, not when I’ve longed for this moment for so long, since those early dreams.

For all the times I’d forbidden myself to imagine this - that we’d be together, in my court and safe…

I whisper as much to Feyre but she turns in my arms, eyes wide, "We're not safe," I see a flash of memory: Hyburn with two Fae I recognise from the war and a large cloth-covered shape between them. I can scent her fear and it _hurts_ \- I want her to forget, _I_ want to forget, just for now. 

"I know this isn't over, Feyre, but let’s not think about it tonight. Let's just be us, together, for a few hours and let everything else wait."

I can see her struggle, pushing at the fears with her tired mind, just as ineffectively as if she were trying to hold back ocean waves with her hands. 

Tucking stray hair back behind her ear, I brush my lips over her skin. I leave kisses high on her cheek bones, almost level with her eyes. Those eyes fall closed and a sound, close to a whimper, falls from her lips. 

Across the bond I feel her yield to me. Her worries ease and her hands catch in my shirt. I slip an arm back around her waist and draw her close. Finally, the warmth of her body presses into mine from shoulder to thigh. 

I lick the corner of her mouth and Feyre parts her lips in a gasp. I pause, looking at that mouth, knowing what _this_ is. 

No more hiding or lies. No more masks. Just us. The first time I will kiss her as my true self and Feyre will respond only because she wants to. 

My mouth closes over her top lip, kissing slowly. When I move to capture her bottom lip between my lips, and then between my teeth, Feyre responds. 

She slides the tip of her tongue along my mouth - an invitation, which I accept, deepening the kiss. My free hand gatherers her hair, twisting it around my palm and tugging gently, to tilt her head back. 

At this angle, I lose track of where my mouth ends and hers begins. The mating bond sings with pleasure and it is all I can do to limit my own sounds - to a quiet groan at her taste and a low growl when her arm twists around my neck and her nails lightly rake my scalp. 

Wings gather from the lingering darkness at my back and the sensation of delight, at the light wind brushing over their membranous surface, is broken when-

**Feyre**

Pulling away from my mate's arms, I stumble back into the bedroom. Away from those wings. Except the warmth of the bedroom has gone and the cold dampness of the cave surrounds me. I can hear the wind in the trees and the hiss of my pathetic fire burning low. 

But all I can see is the wide, black expanse of those wings. They came before, for Rhys. They took him once. They'll take him again-

"No!" It's more of a sob than a shout. 

I can hear Rhys speaking, can sense that he is near, but my eyes won't shift from those wings, now tucked in tightly but still visible over two shoulders. 

And coming closer. 

_Feyre,_ his voice is a balm down the bond, soothing. I take a breath and behind me I feel the edge of the bed. _Sit, Feyre._

I do as my mate asks me, as he sends waves of gentle reassurance towards me. 

Still the wings come closer… And then fingertips trail down my cheeks. I blink, Rhys is there between curving talon-tipped wings. _His wings_. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, "Feyre, I’m sorry, I didn't think."

But I'm shaking my head the whole time he speaks, "No. No, I'm sorry. I don't know what happened." 

Rhys' forehead is creased in worry and I get the impression that he hasn't bought my lack of understanding. 

"I kept my wings hidden Under the Mountain. Almost fifty years without them, it was… a struggle at times. In my own Court I no longer need to hide them but I should have warned you, especially after what happened in the cave."

I hang on his every word. When I say nothing, he continues, “The wings are Illyrian, like my mother. And like Cassian and Azriel." He watches me closely as he says the last name, but I'm back in this moment; the panic has passed. "For my family, I gave up everything. But I wouldn't let _her_ take my wings. Just as I won't let anyone take you.”

There is such pain in his face, like he's wondering if he'd give up those wings for me. Over the bond I can feel his answer as his magic starts to retract them, allowing them to fade back into the darkness. 

“Stop.” I raise a hand to his face, letting him press his cheek to my palm before reaching further, to the edge of one wing. 

Rhys' breath catches as I drag one finger along the curve of his wing. “They're... very sensitive.”

“Really?” I pull my hand away, “What does it feel like?”

“Like this,” Rhys pulls me back into his arms and lets a warm breath of air brush over my ear. “Or this,” moving to my other side, he grazes his teeth down my neck. I can feel his smile as he leaves me shuddering and arching against him. My hands, buried in his shirt, only loosen when Rhys' hands pry them away. 

“You’re tired.” I want to argue but a yawn betrays me. “Bed.”

I’m almost settled under the covers when the question I’m desperate to ask escapes from me, “Will you stay? With me, tonight, I mean.”

His eyes darken to pools of midnight. “Yes. I’m not leaving you Feyre.” I adjust the bed sheets, inviting him under, in case he hadn’t understood that I meant sharing the bed, not just the room.

My new Fae hearing picks up a change to his breathing – now heavier. His scent is stronger too. I watch him without blinking as he slides into bed beside me.

**Rhys**

The memory of the last time we shared a bed floods my mind and, due to the open bond, I know that she remembers it too. Feyre blushes as she shares the memory of how it felt to wake up in my arms.

I remember how I waited for Feyre to fall asleep that night, before pulling her close and kissing her neck. I don’t wait now. 

Even though I keep this playful and light, my body responds with enthusiasm. As I lean over my mate, I keep all but my hands and lips at a distance - out of fear that my resolve will break.

When Feyre’s hands at my shoulders try to pull me closer, I respond with a promise, “I’m not going to bed you tonight Feyre, not while we're both still recovering and with others nearby. Because, when I bed you Feyre, you’re going to need all you strength.”

Her body goes taut at my words and her breathing turns to panting – it’s almost too much for me to resist... But there are conversations still to be had before we take that final step.

We share a handful more kisses and smiles as I send out wisps of star-studded midnight to hover around us. When Feyre adds her own darkness to play with mine, we hear a sound that would make all of my family stop and stare: I laugh.

I make a note to find out if mine are the only powers she's developed during our time apart but right now I am content to feel the brush of her magic against mine without asking.

The bond purrs as our limbs and our magic twists together and we both drift into a peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m finding writing difficult at present (no prizes for guessing why). But I will continue updating, just at a slower rate than before.  
> Wherever you are, stay safe and sane and keep mindful of others.  
> Etta


	12. Planning

**Feyre**

The next morning, earlier than I'd like, Rhys wakes me to inform me that his Inner Circle plan to meet. Here. I doubt a bed chamber is the normal venue for such meetings, so it can only be to include me. 

"Thank you."

Rhys looks unsure, "We don't have to meet here. You don't have to be involved, if you feel you've done your part or you need more rest-"

"Don't leave me out and don't leave me behind." My voice is as hard and uncompromising as I can currently manage.

His face is intently focused on mine as he replies, "Never," but still I push for reassurance.

"You promise?"

"On our mating bond, I promise." He waits for me to nod, to accept his words, before kissing me. Rhys pushes quickly past the seem of my lips and his tongue collides roughly with mine. It's not a gentle kiss but still, it's oddly soothing. 

We've hardly recovered when we are joined by four others, most of their names are known to me: Morrigan, Cassian, Azriel. The last of these, the blue warrior from the cave, only briefly meets my eye before sliding into the darkest part of the room and drawing shadows towards himself. 

I cannot help but tense in his presence though I feel bad for doing it. Sadly, it could take some time before I feel truly comfortable around either of the Illyrians, despite Rhys sharing their distinctive wings. 

Rhys must have noticed the path of my eyes, _Would you prefer him to leave?_

_No, he has more right to be here than me._

In spite of the promise have have just demanded from my mate, I now feel totally inadequate. What role do I have here? What can I possibly contribute? These worries are only exacerbated by the last new arrival. 

"This is Amren," Rhys tells me, "My second."

Amren's gaze is hungry and seems to suck my soul to the surface where she can examine me at length. I feel naked under her eyes, not helped by still being in bed and dressed in Rhys' clothing. Only his hand keeps me calm. But I cannot stay silent.

"Maybe I should leave," I whisper, but not to Rhys, to Amren, whose magic combs through me. She is no more High Fae than I am and the power I can feel rippling off her makes me wilt. 

Mor comes to the rescue, also speaking to Amrem who has yet to speak, "She is Rhys' mate and as such she deserves a place at the table. Or at the bed, I guess." She winks at me. I know Mor means well but I don't want to be here on someone else's merit.

"No. Me being his mate is irrelevant," I reply.

"Far from irrelevant, girl." Amren's voice is as sharp as her eyes. " _He_ is the most powerful High Lord in history and _you_ are his mate - his _equal_. Right now, we can only guess at what you will be capable of. Even without formally accepting the bond, you have a right to be here."

I understand her hunger now, it is for the magic inside me. But I nod and accept my right to be here on those grounds. 

Beside me, I feel Rhys relaxing, like a sigh down the bond. He wants me here but he wouldn't make me stay. He kept out of the discussion and let me choose. I squeeze his hand in thanks. 

The meeting begins but not long after so does a headache, throbbing and insistent. They talk about Hyburn, what he may be planning and why he wants the Cauldron. They talk about Tamlin, though no one names him: he is simply the High Lord of Spring, as though he had never been someone of importance to any of us. 

The focus moves to how and when to inform the other Courts and I feel my concentration slipping. Tiredness is once again a fog through my thoughts, I struggle to hold onto the information given by the others long enough to process it. 

_Sleep_ , Rhys' voice in my mind says, _I'll catch you up later._

I struggle even to send back a complaint, to argue against what he offers. 

_Feyre, rest now or you'll feel worse later._

I know he is right and, if I am honest, I don't have much choice; I'm half asleep already. But as their conversation returns to the Cauldron, I remember the bodiless voice. A voice that somehow knew me. It might be important...

Sleep takes me before I can tell them. 

**Rhys**

She misses the last hour of our meeting but just having Feyre take her place in my Inner Circle makes me feel whole. 

When we are alone once more, I alternate between watching her sleep and writing letters to the other High Lords, except Tamlin who deserves whatever is coming to him. 

The content of the letters doesn't vary but the tone does. And to one letter, Tarquin's, I add an additional final paragraph. 

Feyre grumbles quietly as she wakes and squints into the mid-afternoon sunlight. She's so beautiful. 

When Feyre snorts, I realise that I had sent my thoughts drifting out along the bond. 

"Hardly. Is there somewhere I can wash and get dressed?"

"You're always beautiful but you could be cleaner," I agree, sitting down beside her. She swots at me and I catch her hand, bringing it to my mouth to nip her fingertips. "There is a bathing camber through there," I lower my voice, "Do you require assistance?" 

Her eyes darken but after a moment's pause she shakes her head. I'm a little disappointed - I long to see more, touch more, kiss more... But only at her pace. 

* * *

Feyre is almost an hour in her bath, away from me. And the thought of all her skin exposed and licked by the warm bath water is a distraction I struggle against. 

I send a wave of my desire down the bond and receive a hum of pleasure back.

I picture her hands gliding over her skin - her neck, her breasts; her back arching under her own touch and her nipples hardening in the cool air of the chamber. 

After sending these images to Feyre, I hear the most perfect groan from her, muffled by the distance between us. 

Her battle between arousal and self-restraint is brief but intense. Down the bond I feel Feyre's longing to give in to it, to _me_. But the current situation demands her attention and control. 

I meet her at the door to the bathing chamber, a towel wrapped around her middle and wet hair twisted and pinned up high on her head. 

The bared slope of her neck and shoulders gives me my own inner dilemma. My breathing becomes ragged and I find myself lacking in self-restraint in comparison to her. 

My mouth descends onto her neck where I breath in the smell of soap and my mate, before running my tongue up her throat to her jaw. 

Feyre sighs and tips her head back. "Rhys," my name on her lips is all the encouragement I need. I brush my teeth over her pulse point and bite down gently on the pale skin below her ear. 

A shudder has her reaching for me on unsteady legs. I scoop her up and carry her back to our bed. It would be so easy. 

So easy to remove the towel and make her mine. 

Instead I turn back to the desk now holding five letters, each sealed with the Night Court crest. "We have work to do." I don't say it to be unkind, knowing she understands. 

While I'm turned away I hear Feyre pulling on the clothing I asked Nuala to lay out for her. Only when she appears at my shoulder do I turn and look. 

Feyre in Night Court attire is a sight to behold, one I hope to see often from now on. 

"Letters," she says, looking at the thick leaves of folded paper. "Who are they for?" Of course, the names mean nothing to her yet, her reading still needing more practice. 

"The High Lords of Autumn, Summer, Winter, Dawn and Day." She doesn't ask after Spring. 

Two sharp knocks and I call for Mor to enter our bed chamber. 

I gather up the letters and walk over to meet her. "Cassian is to go to the Autumn Court, you to Winter and Az can visit Dawn and Day."

She nods, "And Summer?" 

"I'll take Summer." Another nod to me, a quick flash of a smile for Feyre and then my cousin leaves. I tuck the last letter into my jacket. 

"I'm coming with you," Feyre informs me.

"Good," I say, "I hoped that you would." 

I hate Tamlin more for the way her shoulders slump in relief, for the promise she demanded of me this morning that she should not have felt was necessary.

"We need to leave soon, Cerridwen has packed for you."

"Packed? Are we not coming back here tonight?" 

"Not tonight if all goes well, there is more to do in the Summer Court than deliver a letter. Once I've warned Tarquin that we're coming, we will be on our way."

**Feyre**

"Rhys, do we need to talk about the mating bond?"

He pauses, every muscle going still, "What would you like to talk about?" I sense how he keeps his voice neutral, as if he isn't worried when clearly he is. 

"What it means. What I need to do." 

His face gutters, "You don't _need_ to do anything. It doesn't need to _mean_ anything." 

" _Rhysand_." The use of his full name seems to call his eyes back to mine. I angle my head to the side and raise my eyebrows, a grim smile playing cross my lips. "If you're thinking that there is any possible future in which I don't accept the mating bond, then one of your winged warriors needs to take you outside and knock some sense into you." 

He smiles, "Cassian would jump at the chance."

I smile too, not at the reference to Cassian but because he believes me and is relieved. 

"I want you, Rhys," I say more softly. "I want the mating bond, I just don't know how this works. Amren mentioned formally accepting the bond, making it official-"

"Not yet." It is my turn for the bite of anxiety and the bitter taste of disappointment. The last thing I expected was for him to push me away. 

Rhys steps closer and lifts my chin so that our eyes can watch each other. "If we are mated Feyre, anyone will be able to scent the bond between us. That puts you at risk, _unnecessary_ risk. If Hyburn wasn't invading, if Tamlin wasn't unstable and if you wanted it, _then_ maybe I'd bed you tonight and have the bond verified by a priestess in the morning."

My cheeks must be as red as they feel given the satisfied smirk on his face; I turn away from that knowing look.

Rhys shifts behind me, letting down my damp hair, running his fingers through it from the roots at my scalp to the damaged ends half way down my back. I hardly breath as he braids my hair and re-pins it into what must be a Night Court style. 

The brush of his lips at my ear makes me shiver, "I don't want to rush this. I don't want us to make choices on anyone else's agenda. I want to be able to take my time with you and I want you to understand _everything_ that it would mean before you accept this bond."

Then he continues sadly, directly into my mind, _Even if that means you choose not to accept it._

I spin to face him, "I will-" Two of Rhys' fingers settle on my mouth. 

"Being my mate would not be an easy or safe option, even in peaceful times. I want you to know everything, to be sure. I love you Feyre but a mating bond doesn't guarantee happiness. 

Tears sting my eyes and it takes biting the inside of my lip to keep them at bay. He's being so careful with me; if he can find the patience to wait then so can I. 

"I love you too, Rhys." I remember sending the words to him down the bond, never knowing if he heard them. He hears them now. He holds my waist and the back of my head as he kisses me, slowly getting deeper and deeper as I push my body closer and closer to his.

We share shy smiles and silent promises as we pull apart. 

"To the Summer Court then," I say, still slightly breathless. "Why do they require a personal visit?"

"Because, Feyre darling," Rhys explains with a grin, "They have something we need."


	13. Summer Court

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, leaving me kudos or comments and your patience with updates. Hope you're all well.

**Rhys**

Tarquin is young by High Fae standards and certainly young to be a High Lord, but I like him. Always have done, which is why I saved his neck Under the Mountain. He owes me; I won't need to remind him of that fact. 

And that's why I have arrived, intending to remain for a few days, without being upfront about my reasons for needing to stay. 

When I set Amren the task of finding a way to remove the threat of the Cauldron, I knew she would find me something but I hadn't expected an answer so quickly - I'm not complaining! She came back with details of a book in two pieces. A book that can control the Cauldron – it is damnation in Hyburn’s hands, possible salvation in ours.

One part is here, hidden somewhere in the Summer Court aeons ago. The other is with the mortal queens across the sea. 

I'll worry about the second half once I've taken the first back to Amren for her to study. This book predates our written language, _all_ written languages – I’m not sure how even Amren will decode it but she seems to think she can, I’m not foolish enough to question her on that!

I seem to be improvising plans far more often than I'd like but there are too many players in this game and no one is taking turns.

If there was no impending war, I'd like to talk to Tarquin about his views on equality. I'd like to make him a friend, an ally in times of peace as well as war. If we both survive whatever is coming, maybe we can have those conversations. 

And Feyre is with me, our bond a living thing between us. Though we haven't mated, I still feel the need to keep her close and the desire to attack anyone who looks at her too long... I hope I can keep these feelings to myself, that they prove to be only an inconvenience while we are away from the Night Court and nothing more. 

I drop her arm as soon as we have winnowed and step quickly away, keeping a respectable distance (about 2m) between us. There will be enough scrutiny of us without giving the Summer Court any reason to speculate on our relationship. 

_Our_ relationship. Thinking about it still makes me feel warm inside. I'm looking forward to having time to find out what that really means, just the two of us. Ideally _before_ the rest of the world demands answers. 

**Feyre**

As I stand in the blinding sun, the words Rhys said to me before we winnowed to the Summer Court echo in my mind.

_"Tarquin will be fascinated with you, now that you carry his power. Use that, if you can."_

I'm not sure I understand, or _want_ to understand, what he means. Despite the sun, I feel cold. 

_Use that_.

We are here to recruit allies against Hyburn and to retrieve an object, a book, which will help us fight the Cauldron. Yet Rhys talks as though manipulating the High Lord, Tarquin, is the only way to get what we need. 

The male in question is approaching now. Not an enemy - but I am to treat him more like an enemy than a friend.

A letter passes from my mate to Tarquin; I watch as it is opened carefully and read equally so.

Mind-to-mind, Rhys tells me of the lies that were written by his hand and are now being studied by Tarquin’s startlingly blue eyes.

Firstly the letter passes on information about Hyburn, important enough to justify being hand-delivered. The lies here are lies of omission - no where does Rhys mention the Cauldron. Then he requests that we stay a day or two, to break our journey on the way to the mortal lands. A blatant lie this time; we have no plans to go below the wall.

Rhys sounds almost _proud_ of the deception as he speaks to me along the bond and I am left confused by this attempt to show the other High Lord as lacking when I know that Rhys thinks well of Tarquin. It doesn't make sense. 

As Rhys predicted, the High Lord of Summer agrees to our extended stay. Tarquin's kind yet vaguely puzzled smile as he welcomes us inside makes my feeling of unease grow.

* * *

Courtesy of Rhys and his many pocket realms, all my things are already in the room I have been given. The dress set out for me to wear this evening is simply stunning. As I pinch the fabric between my thumb and finger, the sleek silk slips through my fingers.

For a brief, sickening moment I remember what I would have become if I'd stayed in the Spring Court - a prize to be dressed up in beautiful clothes and admired.

 _Rhys is not Tamlin_ , I tell myself, and it helps... but I also remind myself that even _Tamlin_ was not like Tamlin to begin with. 

It is soon time for dinner and troubled as I am, I accept Rhys' arm when he meets me at the door. He too seems distant tonight or maybe he is just a different version of himself - the mask is back in place.

With so much to take in, the early part of the evening passes quickly - a tour of this palace sat atop a mountain island, surrounded by a turquoise sea, the sort of colour I used to love trying to mix.

I may have been resident in the Night Court most of this last week but I have seen little of it, so I find myself more often drawing comparisons between Summer and Spring.

The immediate views from the windows show lively and busy surroundings, red-roofed houses and Fae everywhere. Nothing like the quiet countryside of Spring.

And the High Lord himself is as far from Tamlin as anyone could be - warm and generous in his interactions with everyone be them family, visitors or staff. Tarquin's white hair is swept back over his shoulders and his crystal-blue robe is the perfect match for those eyes that seem drawn to me. I look away, shy of his fascination, and instead I study the delicate patterns on his robe, stitched with fine, golden thread. 

After the tour, there are four of us who sit down for dinner: myself and Rhys with Tarquin and his cousin Cresseida: the Princess of Adriata.

Dinner seems to drag and I feel an uncomfortable ache whenever I glance across at Rhys - I never expected the back of his head to trigger a wave of despair as dark as his hair. My mate says nothing to me but seems to be as taken with Cresseida as I'd thought he was with me...

Tarquin is the perfect host and if he's sensed an issue between me and the visiting High Lord he hasn't shown it.

He tells me about his life growing up in the Summer Court, the history of the building we're all staying in and many other harmless topics. Not once does he mention Hyburn, Amarantha or the threat of war. Maybe my face makes it plain how unwelcome those conversations would be. His face, however, is simply kind and curious.

Curious about the power thrumming beneath my skin - just as Rhys said he would be.

Yet again, I look towards my mate, disguising the movement by taking a sip of the sweet dessert wine. He and Cresseida are deep in conversation, foreheads tipped towards each other. At first she was remote in their conversation but I can see she is warming to him.

I start to run out of things to say to Tarquin. In fact, I'm hardly even listening to him at all when Cresseida's laugh is a ringing bell in my head, calling an end to my time at the table. I stand and leave with a mumbled apology. I feel Rhys' attention shift to me but he doesn't break eye contact with the Summer Court beauty. He chooses her.

 _She_ would _be a better match for him._

I'm not sure where the thought comes from but it quickly takes hold. Of course _she_ , who grew up in the world of court politics, would be a more useful companion for any High Lord. Cresseida has years of experiences that I cannot relate to - but he can. For a moment I am lost, searching for _anything_ Rhys and I have in common.

I find nothing, except our shared experience of being under Amarantha's control. 

I'm half way down the corridor before I realise that I'm not sure where I am going, lost in more ways than one. But not for long; Tarquin is close behind me as I stop beside an indoor fountain.

The corridor here swells around the structure of the fountain built from rocks of differing colours. At the top, a gentle trickle of water emerges and travels in rivulets over the rocks until it reaches the stone floor, where it disappears through a network of tiny holes. Large open windows on either side show off the spectacular sea views and allow the cool sea breeze to drift across the corridor. 

Tarquin allows me to watch the fountain in silence. As I follow the path of a single droplet I feel my emotions settle and my magic stir below my skin. But before I can do more than acknowledge this feeling, my patient companion moves closer to the fountain. 

With slow and gentle movements of his fingers, Tarquin pulls droplets of water free from the fountain. Sometimes combining them into a large pearl of water but more often linking the individual droplets, without combining, into a complex and ever-shifting shape hovering in the air between us. I watch as the shape becomes a dolphin - an animal that I have never seen in reality but recognise immediately.

When my father still travelled across the sea to trade with the continent he used to return with stories of dolphins chasing his ship, leaping and diving together as though part of a synchronised show. Nesta didn't believe his tales, or at least pretended not to, until one time my father returned with a book full of beautiful illustrations of the implausible dolphins doing just as he'd described.

I laugh aloud as Tarquin's dolphin darts under my arm, disappearing behind me only to arch over my head, showering me with ice cold drips.

The laugh is as natural as it would have been when I was that a four year old listening to descriptions of a creature like this playing in just this way. I feel that child-like enjoyment and for once I don't push it away.

Instead I pull to mind a different illustration from that long-forgotten book. Beckoning to the water from the fountain just as the High Lord did, I build a sea eagle drop by drop. When finished, I send it swooping under Tarquin's dolphin and around his head. He chuckles.

The dolphin dives back into the fountain, disintegrating on impact and sending a wave of water cascading to the ground. My eagle lands atop the pile of rocks and turns to me, a rainbow in his eye as the final rays of today's sun refract through the trapped water.

"Your powers are advanced." His voice is soft but it still shatters the moment. I remember Tarquin's interest in my power, _his_ power now within me. The eagle collapses, water running down every side of the rocky mountain in rivers and waterfalls until it is lost completely.

His face is crestfallen. "Oh no, Feyre, it was only an observation. I'm curious yes, I won't deny that, but I simply wish to get to know you. I mean you no harm."

I say nothing, biting the inside of my lip as an emptiness opens up inside me. This is the moment Rhys wanted me to 'use', to get some sort of hold over Tarquin. 

"I'm sorry," I say after a long silence, "I don't know what to say." And it's true - even if I wished to I can't do what Rhys wants. I'm not good with people: I'm more likely to _be_ manipulated than do the manipulating. 

Tarquin steps closer, cautiously. "Then say nothing and worry not. You have already done so much for us Feyre, please don't feel you must perform in anyway. The magic is yours now, share it or don't. It's your choice."

His kindness breaks me and words tumble from my lips, "I lived when so many didn't, I have to justify everything, even my survival. To myself as much as to others."

"I'm sorry that you feel that way," he says slowly, "I can only speak for myself but I don't think you have any less right to be here than others. Your choices lessened the loss of life Under the Mountain, not many can say that."

"But I have made enemies in surviving. This power I have... Don't you want it back?" 

It's a dangerous questions and I see Tarquin watch me thoughtfully before he answers. "You have integrity and a natural skill. That drop of my power is safe with you and I wouldn't be surprised if you did more with it than I could have." He looks troubled and then goes on, "I would like offer you my friendship Feyre, with no strings attached, but I suspect you do not trust my intentions right now. You're right not to, many others _would_ want their power back from you."

 _Beron_ , I think but don't say, _maybe Tamlin too, now that I've left him._

I sigh and look at Tarquin sadly. I believe him - he offers his friendship, his help, maybe even the book, if I asked for it. And it only makes me more unhappy because the truth is I _do_ trust this male but I know Rhys is unwilling to do the same. 

"Thank you," I whisper and he nods in understanding. Without another word Tarquin offers me his arm, leading me back to my room. 

Where Rhys is waiting for me. 


	14. Jealousy

**Feyre**

I’m holding Tarquin’s arm tighter than I mean to as we walk down the corridor. 

Tarquin takes me right to my door. I can feel Rhys on the other side, waiting; I’m not sure if it the bond between us that alerts me or if his power is leaking under the door frame and licking at my bare ankles.

I can’t get a fix on how he is feeling – there are too many emotions rolling together. But I know he will ask if I have made progress with Tarquin and I don’t know what I will say.

Still, I give Tarquin my full attention for a moment more. His eyes are like looking into clear lake water, deep but open, with nothing to hide. Holding his gaze brings a rising tide of irritation towards Rhys. Why should we _steal_ from this male? Why should _I_ be responsible for tricking him?

The hosting High Lord must feel the shift in my emotions but I thank him quickly and step away, not wanting anything to be said in Rhys’ hearing that cannot be taken back.

He smiles warmly as we part. I return Tarquin’s look with as big a smile as I can manage, making sure it reaches right up to my eyes because I honestly have enjoyed my evening with him, my lesson by the fountain. And then I excuse myself to enter to my room.

“Good evening?” Rhys asks from behind me. I unclench my fists before turning to find him sat on the end of my bed, a near-empty glass in hand.

“Fine. Yours?”

He ignores my question. “Oh, only ‘fine’? You seemed to enjoy your lesson at least.” It is not just his tone that sets my teeth on edge.

I bristle, “Meaning?”

Rhys shrugs, stands and walks towards the narrow window. Keeping me waiting, _bastard._ “Nothing.”

The silence drives me to try to explain, "Tarquin showed me a little of his power, I was just copying." I hate how apologetic I sound.

"And what a quick learner you were, Feyre darling. So _advanced_."

The use of Tarquin's words confirms that my mate was watching us somehow. That he hadn't _trusted me_. Pushing the realisation away is like trying to swallow bile, the burning doesn't go away.

“I thought you _wanted_ me to use my magic to get close to Tarquin.”

“I did.”

His short responses and the sharp tone bring on a low level panic; I feel my breathing quicken and my shaking hands reform fists.

Something is _breaking_ and I don’t understand why. I've done as Rhys asked, if anything I was worried that he would be disappointed that I hadn't done _more_... If I don't understand the problem how can I fix it?

Unless this has nothing to do with Tarquin - what if this distance between us was carved out by Cresseida? What if he's trying to push me away?

I prepare for the worst and make sure my voice betrays nothing as I say, “Then what is your problem Rhys? I'm only doing what you've asked.”

**Rhys**

My eyes might rake over the sea view but my attention is fixed keenly on the female behind me. 

_I’m only doing what you asked._

I’m sure she believes that – that she is only giving Tarquin a little of herself to gain his trust. But I heard her laugh from corridors away, felt the spark of joy break through her shield as only the strongest and most fundamental feelings can.

I know how little cause to laugh she has had in her short life, especially during her time above the Wall.

It's petty but I don't want her to share her smiles and laughter with anyone but me. Her firsts should be mine, as her mate, not given away to a male she only properly met this afternoon. 

“Don't give Tarquin too much.” I spit out the words between slowly lengthening fangs.

“Like my trust, you mean?” I turn back to Feyre, finding her face flushed and her eyes flashing with an emotion I cannot read. “He's a good male Rhys, why can't we trust him? Why can't we just _ask_ him for the book?”

I throw a shield around the room, wait a heartbeat for it to slide down every wall, spread across the ceiling and the floor, containing everything we say or do. And then I reduce the grip I hold on myself.

A _good male_.

Her praise for him removes the last of my self-control, letting the inner beast bite through the skin on my hands, wings forming from midnight and hate. “We stick to the plan,” I growl. “If he knows we want the book, he will increase the wards around it and make our job ten times harder. Surprise is the only advantage we have.”

My mate steps back, moving away from me until the backs of her legs hit the bed.

Cold logic helps me to calm down and looking at Feyre – seeing the fear and uncertainty that has now replaced that brief happiness – also bring me a measure of control. Enough to push back against the beast.

I top up my drink and offer her one but Feyre shakes her head.

When I gently brush over her stellar mental shield she pushes back, forcing me away. Any attempt to physically touch her would likely get the same response. 

...Yet she let Tarquin take her arm only minutes ago - and she is my mate! The next wave of emotion crashes over me - a wordless demand from the as yet unaccepted mating bond. _She’s mine._

I step closer, despite her discomfort, and lower my voice, “As soon as we locate the book, we take it and leave. Tarquin won't like it but this isn't about him, it's about all of Prythian.”

From here I can scent Tarquin on Feyre, strongest on her arm and at her waist, where his hands have touched her. I'm grinding my teeth to hold back all the things I want to say.

However, words don't seem to be necessary, Feyre understands from my expression alone. 

“If you don't like the idea of me spending time with Tarquin you shouldn't have asked me to be your distraction.”

“You’re not a distraction.” Even as I say it though, I’m not sure it’s true. I don’t want Feyre near the book. I only brought her here to keep her close and make Tarquin forget to watch me. So maybe I am using her as a distraction...

Feyre glares at me with eyes like polished ice, hearing my lie. She reads me far better than I can read her tonight. I try the bond again, to explain, but she still won't let me in.

“You tell me to get closer to Tarquin, you ignore me almost from the moment we arrive here but you still think you have the right to be angry with me when I _do as you ask_.”

“I'm not angry.” But I am dangerously _close_ to being angry as I stand so near to Feyre that we are almost touching, her scent mixing with Tarquin’s scent, taunting me.

“Then what are you Rhys? If this is jealousy, it doesn't look good on you.”

Something snaps and though there are no physical changes this time, I lose it. “And you weren't?”

“Weren't what?”

“Jealous.” She stills. “Jealous that I've been ignoring you, talking to Cresseida instead.”

Feyre's cheeks turn flame red and I feel like a dick but she's gotten under my skin - at this point I can either fight with her or fuck her. And the second isn't possible, not here. 

“Don't be ashamed Feyre, of course you're jealous of her,” I'm not sure where the words are coming from but the keep on coming, “Who wouldn't be jealous of someone who gets to spend time with me? Plus she's beautiful, confident, intelligent-”

"Stop, _please_." I hear her words both with my ears and directly into my mind. Her voice is a warning but one I chose to ignore. 

"Cresseida and I are planning a day out tomorrow actually, to the mainland, just the two of us." It’s true, we are. And it’s also why I decided to wait in Feyre's room this evening, to forewarn her. Instead, I now use the information as a weapon while simultaneously hating myself for it.

“Get out.” I hear my mate, the way her voice breaks on the words, but I still don't listen. 

"If you like, I'll-"

" _Rhys_."

"-give you all the details tomorrow evening." 

The ice in Feyre's eyes has melted now. "Why can't you be more like Tarquin?" She gasps between tears.

All my anger and frustration vanishes. _She means it_ , I can see her wishing to take the words back but part of her knows it's true.

Feyre has spent the evening with a decent male, a High Lord - powerful and kind, and now she understands why I am a difficult male to love. She tells me what she wants and makes it clear that I'm not it with just a handful of words.

Why did I have to keep pushing? I can't even remember what I was upset about. 

She slumps down onto the bed, head dropping into waiting hands. 

_Feyre._ I can't speak but I send her name along the bond: an apology, a promise to do better if she will please let me back in. 

_I can't do this now. Please Rhys. Go._

She doesn't push me out of her mind - I'm not sure if she could; it is as though her pain has ripped through that first class mental shield like tissue paper.

I did that. 

I nod, swallowing down the bitter regret and grief for what we had (could have had). And though I'd rather get down on my knees and beg, I leave her crying, closing the door softly behind me. 

All night I am aware of her building the shield back up from nothing, I sense her raising and lowering that mental wall even though her mental energy is almost spent.

And I hear her motivation though she is careful not to think it too clearly: she needs to keep me out.

**Feyre**

Next morning, I have an equally stunning dress to wear and my mental shield repaired, partially at least, enough to get through breakfast with Rhys. 

I don't know what we are to each other today, I don't want to think about what label might or might not fit us now. The pain from his taunting is still too fresh to allow any of his regret to soothe me.

Knowing this, I find that I have nothing to say to him and pass the whole of breakfast talking alternately with Tarquin and Cresseida. The High Lord is, if anything, more pleasant this morning and his cousin has thawed a little towards me - maybe she thinks I'm no longer a threat where Rhysand is concerned. Maybe I'm not.

At regular intervals I feel Rhys at the boundary of my mind. But he can stay there for all I care, I'll not let him in. 

When Tarquin offers a tour of the local coastline, I do glance quickly at Rhys, out of habit, only for Tarquin to inform me that Rhys and Cresseida are otherwise engaged today. 

_Of course they are. Off to the mainland together._

There is a splinter of jealousy but mostly I feel numb. We seem to be drifting apart so quickly that I'm struggling to adjust.

I actively try to put my jealousy away because whatever might have happened between us I still believe Rhys deserves to be happy. For everything he has given I wouldn't deny him that. What is it that Rhys keeps telling me? _A mating bond isn't a guarantee of happiness._

Maybe Cresseida will make him happy.


	15. Truth

**Feyre**

A warm breeze keeps my hair away from my face as I follow Tarquin. 

We've left the castle-city behind in favour of the empty beaches of the half-moon bay. I requested a change of scenery, asking Tarquin to show me something I wouldn't see in the Night Court. 

I may as well have said something that won't remind me of Rhysand. 

His light coloured robes and my loose fitting dress are well matched both to the weather and each other. My mood drops at that thought, reminding me that Tarquin is not who I'd like to be walking with. He is not my mate. 

I miss the easy, or easier, contact with Rhys that we briefly enjoyed at the House of Wind. The mating bond seems to have only added a new layer of tension between us.

More than anything, I wish I could do last night over - all the things I wouldn’t say if I could go back just twelve hours!

In the distance, a bird of prey swoops in lazy spirals over the waves. It must be a truly huge bird because, even though there is nearly a mile between us, I can make out the wing shape in detail and can pick out different colours in the fanned tail feathers. 

I'm about to ask Tarquin about this bird, it's as safe a conversation topic as I can find, but he speaks first. 

“Has something happened between you and Rhysand?”

I turn my face away to hide my scowl, _what right has he to ask that?_

My silence speaks for me.

"I’m sorry. None of my business.” As we walk on without talking, I notice the way the shallow water pulls in close to the passing High Lord, a movement completely separate to that of the tide. I wonder if he consciously has this effect or if his magic just calls to the waves on its own. 

“I’m glad that you have both stayed a while,” Tarquin continues, ignoring the awkwardness of a few minutes ago, “I've long thought there was more to know about Rhysand, more than the version of himself he brings out in public. I was hoping for a chance to get to know him better.”

I snort, my bad temper still lingering, “You mean you changed your mind about him when he covered for you Under the Mountain.” I hear how my irritation adds insult to every word and immediately feel bad. Tarquin really doesn't deserve this rudeness. 

I'm on the point of apologising when the High Lord answers, still with a voice full of warmth and good feeling, “No, before then actually.” He doesn't deny what I've said but neither is it open to discussion.

Tarquin continues, “When I was very young I heard conflicting stories about Rhysand, Lord of Nightmares. There were many, oft-repeated tales of the cruelty of the Night Court - about Rhys himself and those over whom he ruled. But there were other tales about Rhys’ actions during the war and, more recently, from the north of a court who were content, not attempting to flee, happy even - and of a place where equality was becoming more than just a word.

“No evidence of this place was ever found by Summer Court spies but the contradiction between those stories stuck with me. Until I saw it again - when he bet on you to beat the wyrm.” 

The questioning look he gives me now brings heat to my cheeks but I say nothing. 

He sighs, “Feyre, I don't know you or Rhysand as well as I should like but I want to be clear that I have no intention of getting between you.”

“There's nothing- we're not…” At my fumbled rebuttal, Tarquin's lips twitch into a smile for the first time. 

“As you say.” I want to point out that I _said_ nothing but his calm manner is seeping through the air around him. A welcome change. 

So all I do is nod and we walk on, my sandals filling with warm, fine-grained sand, and I fall into an almost meditative state.

I'm lucky that some deeply instinctive part of me has been paying attention to our surroundings.

A feel a lurch in my stomach, the unpleasant twin of a tug from the mating bond. I recognise this feeling from my recent time in the Spring Court: it is the same connection that I felt with the Cauldron. 

My eyes sweep over a partially submerged temple, long since given over to the sea and brought to near ruin. _That_ is where the book is being kept; hidden in plain sight. I’m not sure how I know, I just do; like the book itself is calling to me, like it wants to be found.

Tarquin must trust me to bring me so close to his most valuable treasure. Or else he underestimates me to his cost.

I drag my gaze away, back to the High Lord at my side. One look at his warm smile and kind eyes is enough to know I will not deceive this male any longer. 

I halt in my walking and he stops too. “We've lied to you, Tarquin. There is no plan to visit the mortal realm when we leave here.”

He is confused, I can see that he thinks there is a joke within my words and he's searching for the punchline. With a confused smile he asks, "So why _are_ you here?

A deep breath, “To take the book that you have hidden over there.” I point but neither of us follow the line of my arm with our gaze.

I watch as his eyes change from confused to cold.

**Rhys**

I've spent enough time with Cresseida now to know she is lonely and fiercely protective of both her cousin and her court. Long enough also to know that everything from her expressions, her conversation and her way of walking makes her inferior to Feyre. 

It’s not a kind thought but my mate is never out of my mind as we walk down the streets of Adriata, loosely following a tour of the city. 

If I hadn't already agreed to this outing I would have spent the morning apologising repeatedly to Feyre.

I worry that the longer we are apart, the deeper the rift between us becomes. 

And as the midday sun searches out every inch of exposed skin, Cresseida steps to one side, to talk through an open window with a Summer Court lady, and I feel it - a spike of fear. 

Like the one I felt when she was with Tamlin, this has slipped through Feyre's shield.

The fear is tinged with regret and less intense than before. That is the only reason I'm still here, waiting patiently for my guide. Never again will I ignore a cry for help from her, whatever happens between us. 

But this is not as extreme and Feyre is with Tarquin; if she needed help he would surely step in. 

Unless...

 _No._ She wouldn't be stupid enough to go after the book without me. Even after last night, she wouldn’t take such a risk.

_Would she?_

* * *

I see disappointment in Cresseida’s face when I beg for an early return to the castle but I feel nothing in response. There is no room inside me to feel bad for leading her on; my mind is overflowing with emotion. 

An excruciating half an hour has passed since I felt the spike from Feyre. I don’t know where she is, what she is doing, if she is ok, if she knows I love her.

I’m breaking and though I’ve been through hell before I’ve always been able to hold my broken parts together. 

Now I am shattered. I need to be back in my room - no, _her_ room. I need to be with her. If she isn’t there then I will wait, away from Cresseida, away from everyone.

Getting closer, I sense that Feyre _is_ back but instead of relief I begin to ready myself for anything - for her to be hurt, angry, with Tarquin…

The bond surges with hate. The power to kill tingles at my fingertips and though I know it would be wrong - _far worse than wrong_ \- to kill a High Lord, an ally, a ‘good male’, I also know that I _will_ mist Tarquin if he is in that room. 

**Feyre**

I stand alone in the center of the room when Rhys enters, shocked by all the brutal truths he is broadcasting, without filter.

His shield has fractured, I think with relief at finding me here, so every thought and feeling is crashing down the bond towards me. A cacophony. 

Loudest, I can hear his fear that I will choose Tarquin, a fear I could have put to rest last night but made worse instead. 

I start to cry gently and allow my recently repaired shield to fall so he can hear what I cannot say. 

_I only want you. I don’t want him. I only wanted reassurance about Cresseida. I only want you Rhys._

Over and over I try to reassure him, searching for some proof, in all the chaos of information, that he hears me. 

Rhys fights to reign in all those feelings, I can read the effort it takes him in the lines on his face. But it’s not the only thing he is fighting - I feel it now, the strain against the mating bond. 

How differently it affects him - that insistent call to claim me, the aggressive need to make me his... And how he fights to make it right for me, to give me time. 

How sure he is that I won't want him once I know him better. 

How he doesn't wish to trap me in a life with him that might not make me happy.

I see the moment Rhys realises just how open he is being; a faint panic in his eyes followed by despair.

As a distraction, I think, he shares the feeling he had when Cresseida took his arm after breakfast this morning, the rolling nausea. He wants me to know there is nothing between them but I don’t feel any great wave of relief - on some level I already knew. 

My voice whispers, "You are a good male Rhys." Not a long thought through declaration. Just the truth.

He leans back against the door, head tilted up, face distorting as if in pain. I feel him fight against my words, see in my mind as he relives all the things he cannot forgive himself for. 

I watch them all: familiar memories from Under the Mountain, what he did for Amarantha, _to Amarantha,_ followed by unfamiliar events - the War - and further back, into his youth, where Tamlin's friendship is won and lost - Rhys' family lost with it. 

We are both crying and I have no concept of how long I’ve stood witness to what Rhys sees as the worst of himself. I want to reach out, to physically and mentally help him find some peace but-

“Tarquin is coming.” I know he is already too close to breaking and that he _cannot_ lose control now, the stakes are too high.

Any discussion could make him less stable not more. _Later,_ I promise myself, _there will be time to talk._

"He's going to give us the book. I'm sorry, I had to tell him everything but he wants to help us Rhys. Because it's the right thing to do," I add hastily, "Not because of… it's nothing to do with _me_. If anything, I think he's doing this for you. So don't, you know, mist him or anything."

Rhys chokes on a laugh and looks up at me, his eyes warming. "He will give us the book?"

I nod, waiting for something - anger maybe. But my mate just smiles. 

"You're amazing." 

"No," I say, thinking of all the pain he's shared with me and the extra pain caused by me. "But I am yours, Rhys."

**Rhys**

Everything settles inside me, like an explosion happening in reverse. I am whole again, cracked but no longer shattered. 

There is so much that needs to be said, I have shared too much too quickly, but Feyre's words are enough for now. 

"You're mine," I whisper back and the bond purrs, no longer aggressive or demanding. 

There isn't time to say more. Tarquin arrives, knocking softly and entering without waiting for a response.


	16. The Book

**Feyre**

Tarquin's face is grim and strained as he enters. Whatever he went through to retrieve that book has left its mark. I'm suddenly very glad we didn't need to try to steal it. A challenge for him could well have meant death for us. 

"This is the half of the book given to the Summer Court and guarded by my family for more years than I know. I give it to you now _only_ for this time of need and as proof that the Summer Court will fight beside you against Hyburn through all that is to come."

He looks only at Rhys as he speaks and by their constant eye contact I know that still more has been left unsaid and is yet understood. 

Now Tarquin turns to me. "Thank you for trusting me with the truth Feyre, I feel sure I can trust you with this." He places a box on the table and I can feel Rhys itching to look at it. He waits for our host though, as do I. 

Tarquin lifts the lid and all that was suppressed now fills the small space we stand in. A great and ancient power. 

Like a knife through my brain, sharp and specific pain erupts in my head. Pain that spans from temple to temple. Pain that seems to throb as if it had a heartbeat of its own. 

Tarquin and Rhys don't turn from examining the book until I fall to my knees. 

_Feyre,_ Rhys kneels beside me, "What's wrong?" But I don't need to answer because _he_ can feel the pain now too, as it exceeds that which can be contained within a shield. He looks towards the book, looking for a cause, wondering...

He doesn't need to wonder for long.

 _She has come for me._ An eerie voice speaks, not from the book but from all around us and inside us. _The one who will make the floe. Feyre._

An arm pulls me close and I feel Rhys readying to winnow us out of here, even if he has to take down Tarquin's wards in the process. 

Nausea rolls up from my stomach bringing my breakfast with it. I vomit onto the floor, narrowly missing my dress. 

_It's almost time,_ says the book to everyone and no one, then Tarquin snaps the lid closed. The pain and the nausea vanish but rather than leaving me feeling well once more I feel drained. 

I slump further into Rhys, my arms hanging limp, head rolling. A shadow falls over my face and a hand lightly touches my forehead, my neck. 

"She's burning up." Tarquin's voice. I hear concern in his tone. Who is he talking about? We should help. 

"Did you know?" growls Rhys. There is fear beneath the aggression, I know him well enough now to hear it. Fear that I should be able to feel down the bond but, I realise, our connection is suddenly weaker, distant. 

Everything feels distant: their voices, the room, the person I am - or was. All fading away... 

**Rhys**

As my mate falls still and silent in my arms, I direct my anger at Tarquin. 

"Is this why you agreed so easily? Was this your aim - to hurt me through her?" I don't care that I am revealing more than I should. The only thing I care about is the female whose hand no longer grips my jacket and whose eyes are no longer open. 

"This was certainly not my aim, I did _not_ wish to hurt Feyre, for _any_ reason. I want to help - she is too hot, we must cool her down." He reaches for Feyre but I jerk away, twisting to put my body between them. 

"Rhys." His voice becomes gentle. The air around us fills with mist and the carpet is covered with dew. I understand what he is offering and turn back, still tense and ready to fight if I need to. 

I may be the most powerful High Lord in history but I can do nothing for my mate except hold her and accept his help. It hurts my pride to watch Tarquin reach out a hand and touch Feyre's forehead with all five fingertips. But my pride comes after my mate. 

Beads of water flow across her burning skin, some instantly evaporating away. He redoubles his efforts, pouring more water across her face and down her body. 

It takes too long. Too long for me to keep control of my temper; I spit insults and accusations at Tarquin as he works but never does he respond.

Tarquin doesn't stop and though Feyre doesn't wake, slowly, I begin to feel her temperature dropping. He might be ignoring _me_ but his attention never leaves Feyre. I notice how he concentrates his cooling water on her head and when I check I realise that the rest of my mate's body is almost a normal temperature. 

Whatever happened, it happened exclusively inside her head. 

How had the book done this? Why only Feyre?

When Feyre begins to move - first the curling of her fingers, then a twitch in one leg - I could have cried with relief. As she wakes, the bond between us wakes too. 

I place a hand on Tarquin's shoulder and say, "You have saved the life of my mate. I am forever in your debt."

Tarquin's eyebrows twitch in surprise but he makes no comment about my newly revealed relationship with Feyre. "You owe me nothing, I meant what I said before: the Summer Court will fight beside you as allies. In this war and beyond it."

I nod in thanks and look back down at Feyre as her lips part and her eyes begin to move below closed lids. 

"Why did it target her?" 

Tarquin's question is the twin of my own. I shake my head, "She mustn't be near the book again."

"It speaks to her, we could learn much." 

"No." I won't hear any arguments for risking the life of my mate. Tarquin seems to realise this and changes tact. 

"What did it mean by 'the floe'?" 

I had forgotten the words of the book and now remembered with a start. _The one who will make the floe._ "I don't know." And that's the frightening truth. I have no idea what 'the floe' is but maybe Amren will. 

**Feyre**

My mouth is dry, my arms and legs tingle. A hand rubs circles onto my back and a head rests next to mine. Rhys. 

Before opening my eyes, I test the bond, _Are you there?_

_Yes. Always. How are you feeling?_

_Tired_. An incomplete description but the best my mind can do at the moment. Blinking once, twice and then the room comes back into focus.

 _Can you sit up?_

In reply I put a hand on his thigh and push myself away from the support of his chest. The High Lord of Summer is watching closely from across the room.

"Tarquin saved your life." 

I glance at Rhys and then back to Tarquin, "Thank you," I whisper - another inadequate response. 

He gives me a small smile. 

"What do you remember, Feyre?" Rhys asks softly. 

I look back at my mate. "I remember the book speaking to me and pain in my head. Lots of pain. And then a feeling like fading away until… nothing."

The reassuring look Rhys gives me is completely ruined by all the remembered fear I can feel along the bond. I see myself in his arms and his anguish at not being able to help. 

I take his hand and squeeze gently. _I'm here._

Tarquin pulls my attention back to him, "Do you have any idea why it affected you and not us?" 

"No but…" 

Rhys tenses, Tarquin waits. Then, "But?" the High Lord of Summer asks. 

"When I saw the Cauldron I felt something like that. The pain, I mean. And…" 

This time Rhys prompts me, "And what, Feyre?" 

"The Cauldron spoke to me too." 

**Rhys**

"What did the Cauldron say?" I ask between gritted teeth, and _why didn't you tell me that before?_ I add to myself, keeping my shield tight. 

"I don't remember." There are tears in her eyes and she's barely awake so I don't push her further. 

I want to shake her and kiss her and shout at her and hold her close. Any order will do. But not with Tarquin here. 

I let him ask one final question. "What about 'the floe'? Did that mean anything to you?" 

"No," Feyre replies, her voice so quiet now that it is less than a whisper. "But the book and the Cauldron are connected, their magic is connected. And they are connected to me too somehow."

I swallow down the bile coating my throat. "OK. Amren might know more. We need to get the book back to the Night Court but," I turn to Tarquin, "I don't want Feyre and the book to travel together."

He nods, "I'll hold onto the book until you come to retrieve it."

I look at Feyre, "Are you strong enough to winnow?" 

Her face says no but verbally she says, "Yes, whenever you're ready." 

I want her as far from that book as possible. I want the privacy and security of my own court. I want to ask Amren to find out about the floe. 

Maybe I should wait an hour or so but almost losing Feyre has made me impatient. I named her as my mate to Tarquin. I want to make her my mate in every way. 

With a hand at her back and another at her elbow, I get Feyre back on her feet. She is unsteady and I'm grateful when Tarquin offers to lift the wards allowing me to winnow us back from inside his home. 

As I bid him goodbye I feel the bite of regret - I _should_ have trusted him sooner. But I trust him now. Trust him to look after the book and to keep our secret. This male is an ally of the sort I've never had outside of the Night Court. Under different circumstances I would be happy. 

We lock eyes once more before I winnow, Feyre pressed tightly to my side. 

**Feyre**

Rhys brings us directly to our bedroom. I feel a ripple of magic distort the air around us as he sends news of our return to those who need to know, then his gaze is on me, haunted eyes looking down. I sense that half of my mate is here but the other half remains in the Summer Court.

I can relate. There are still times when I see flashes of that cave, the fire dying before my eyes and Rhys along with it while I waited and waited for help.

He must hear these thoughts or read them from the tension in my face. "Never again."

"Never again." It is a futile promise but we both need the pretence of taking control. 

Rhys brushes the hair away from my forehead and gently places a kiss between my eyebrows; he rests there, lips against my skin, and I know he is working up to speaking.

"Why didn't you say about the Cauldron?" I bite down on my lip, saying nothing. "Why would you hide something like that?"

"Everything happened at once, it didn't seem important while I was watching you die and after... after I guess I hoped it wasn't important."

"Tell me now. Tell me everything." So I do, as well as I can remember. I show Rhys my memory of Hyburn, the twins and the Cauldron. I let him hear that unearthly voice as it named me. And, though I would rather not, I reveal the deal Tamlin made - my help in return for his revenge against Rhys. 

"What does Hyburn need _you_ for?" My mate's hands have tightened their grip on me but I don't think he notices. There is a desperation in his voice that makes me feel uncomfortable - I've always believed Rhys would know what to do, seeing him like this is unsettling.

When I shake my head, the lines around his eyes and mouth harden until he looks every one of his five hundred years. Then pulls me close enough to feel the drumming of his heart against my cheek. And that is how we stay for sometime. 


	17. Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and encouraging words while I've been absent online.  
> After a period of change, I think things in my life have settled again and I've been missing writing. So, although I can't give you an update pattern yet, I am back to writing regularly and intend to finish both this story and The Light Within Darkness.

**Rhys**

Back at the Night Court, a pale sun offers light but little warmth. Feyre is not dressed for this climate. The wind blowing freely through the room has teeth that catch at our clothing and her exposed skin. 

I guide my mate away from the open balcony doors while sending tendrils of darkness to close and secure every opening behind us. The table is closest so it is to there that I steer her. Feyre settles against the high back of the chair and I, sitting in the adjacent seat, stroke her neck softly. A faint heartbeat pulses beneath my fingers.

We may have promised 'never again' but the truth is that war is coming. Today she nearly died. Next time there might be no 'nearly'.

"I'm okay."

I smile and flick her nose gently. "I know. But we should start those reading lessons again, can't have you frightened of a silly old book."

It is meant as a tease but Feyre's shoulders tense. "I wasn't afraid," she protests, while the scent of her fear floods my nostrils.

"I was," I admit, quietly. "I was terrified." Tears fill her eyes and I send warmth and love down the bond. Slowly, calm returns - and so does her bone deep tiredness and, in me, another sort of ache entirely. 

Darkness swirls around us, fuelled not by danger or death but my desire. I want to take Feyre far from everyone, to a cabin owned by my family in the Illyrian mountains. I want to make her mine; the distance still between us suddenly feels infinite given the danger all around.

But Feyre is short of breath even while sitting down, her skin is pale and another long-distance winnow is clearly out of the question, as is anything more physical than sleeping. I watch her eyelids flutter open and closed, neither asleep or awake.

There is someone I need to speak with but the mating bond won't let me leave. Instead I seek out the confidant I need, though she hates it when I contact her this way, invading the privacy of her mind.

Amren's growl arrives seconds before the female herself winnows into the room. Her eyes flick to Feyre then rest on my face, taking in more than I would have put into words. "So now you know. Feyre is more than a pet to be protected."

I snarl, teeth bared and eyes slitted, but gently so as not to upset the barely-conscious Feyre. "She was never just a pet to me."

"Maybe not but you cast yourself in the role of protector even so."

"She's my _mate_ ," I say, as though that explains and excuses all.

Amren waves a hand, dismissing my words. "She is far more than that, far more than we can say as yet. The role she must play is still unknown."

It's a sobering thought.

I describe the interaction between Feyre and the Book and her revelations about the Cauldron. First we discuss the logistics of bringing the book to the Night Court for Amren to study while also keeping it away from Feyre. Then we turn to what I view as the more pressing matter.

We talk and Amren throws out some interesting ideas, most centering on the mix of magic now inside Feyre. Having a drop of magic from each High Lord is not a guarantee of power but given that I am her mate it is hard _not_ to speculate.

"Could we be overstating this connection between Feyre and the Cauldron? Might it just be because she holds a little of everyone's magic - that the connection is with the magic not Feyre herself?"

"I don't see the distinction. But yes, I'm sure the magic she received Under the Mountain is a part of it, and so are you - as her mate. It's all connected."

"Find out for me," I say, using my best High Lord voice.

Amren scoffs but her eyes are back on Feyre now, drinking in everything about her. "I will do some research, because the situation is interesting to me and once you bring me the Book from Summer that will help too." She paused, weighing her words. I wait. "If I could hear-"

"No," I swiftly cut her off, "You are _not_ to experiment on her." Amren shrugs dismissively but says nothing. " _Amren_ , that book is not to come anywhere near Feyre, is that understood?"

"Yes, High Lord." I hear the mocking in her tone but she departs before I can reply.

Throughout all, Feyre's attention has danced around our conversation, hovering just short of understanding and at times landing on a particular word, repeating it over and over. I monitor everything, assessing her mental state down the bond.

Feyre hasn't shown any sign of noticing that Amren has gone. We've sat at the table for almost an hour since then; I am content to simply watch the changing expressions flicker across her features. 

Her energy levels are fading but I don't want to move her yet. It's selfish - I simply don't want to risk waking her fully - I'm not ready to tell her that Amren has no answers, not yet at least.

**Feyre**

The words spin around the room, seeming to come from all around. I watch Rhys and Amren's lips moving as they talk but movement and sound stay always out of sync.

I try to follow what is said but I quickly become dizzy from the effort. My mind wanders yet I don't miss the way they look at me - Rhys with fear and Amren with hunger.

This chair, with its cushioned seat, padded back and wide arm rests, is surprisingly comfortable. The longer the conversation continues around me, the more I fade into the furniture. 

The surroundings are muted and sleep beckons.

**Rhys**

When it is clear that Feyre finally is asleep, I carry her to the bed from the table. Her body in my arms brings back the way she fell limp early today and would have slipped through my arms onto the floor if I hadn't held her to me. I cling to her now as though I were a drowning male and she the life raft.

With tender affection I watch her sleep and gradually my agitation wanes. "She is safe here," I make myself say it over and over until I half believe it. And then, still fully dress and with her hand held loosely between both of mine, I also sleep.

* * *

I am woken carefully by Mor, who gives me time to adjust to the darkness that now blankets the bedroom and to check on Feyre - still sleeping.

With a nod of her head and a meaningful look, my cousin requests that we speak outside. The bond is open between me and my mate, who is peaceful at present, so I agree. 

"Hyburn is on the move, up the coast but out of sight of the Summer Court. Tarquin knows and is readying his forces to defend but it doesn't look as though Summer is his destination."

"Where then? Winter? Or The Middle?"

"Both are possible, I'd like permission to go to the Winter Court and ensure they are not caught unaware."

Personally I think The Middle is the more likely landing point, with its lack of laws and an abundance of strong and cunning creatures I can see Hyburn feeling right at home. It's not a reassuring thought. 

However, the stubborn tilt of Mor's jaw and the intensity of her stare tells me that this is not just a whim. She reminds me, without words, that she has loved ones outside of the Night Court while also making it clear that if her High Lord says to stay here then she'll stay. Far be it for Mor to just _ask_ to go warn her friends!

...Yet I want to say no. We are weaker divided and I need my family close right now. 

I weigh up the options but ultimately, I say yes. I will direct Az to keep an eye on The Middle.

And if I hug Mor a little tighter than normal as she leaves she doesn't call me on it. 

**Feyre**

_Below me I see the white of snow and the grey of exposed rock. Above is a wall of dense clouds, promising rain, sleet or snow is soon to come. Where the weak sun manages to seep through it makes only a dull impression on the land, much of my surroundings remains in shadow._

_The grey-scale landscape is unchanging as I pass overhead. Nowhere can the colour green be seen. Nowhere are there signs of life._ _I drop lower and the untouched surface of the snow comes into view. No bird, no mouse, no ant has left its mark here. The quiet has a sharpness to it._

 _On the side of one mountain a wide fissure has created a space where no snow has collected. That dim sum here illuminates the lines running through the rock, layers of age, each weighing heavy on the ones before._ _And almost filling the gap between the rocky walls is the vast shape of the Cauldron. It whispers my name, drawing me close until I am at its side, looking down into…_

 _The word 'nothing' doesn't do justice to the pulsing absence within the Cauldron._ _I lean closer and, without fear, I let myself fall forwards. Down, down, down-_

My eyes snap open. The surface of my tongue is like sanding paper and it sticks unpleasantly to the inside of my equally dry mouth. Rolling to face the edge of the bed, I am left disappointed: there is no water here.

Water is not the only thing missing - Rhys is also absent.

My feet turn instantly cold as they touch the floor and I pad silently across the room to where I remember seeing glasses and bottles of alcohol.

The bottles are many and vary in size, colour and style. I trace my finger along a pattern of swirls set into the glass of one bottle then across the rough surface of another bottle made from frosted-green glass. But alcohol is not what I need - I won't trade in my awareness for temporary oblivion.

I choose a large glass tumbler and focus on the texture under my fingers, the temperature. With that part of me that calls out to the Winter Court, I remove the heat one particle at a time, feeling the glass growing colder and colder while I banish it's former heat out into the night.

Water droplets begin, slowly at first, to collect at the surface of the glass. I watch the water vapour in the air condense back into the liquid I seek. Inside the glass, water collects at the bottom of the tumbler, an ice-cold pool. Those droplets that form on the outside and fall away, I catch and redirect into the glass in just the way I had practiced at the Summer Court.

Soon enough I have a full container so I pull back my attention and allow the temperature I had adjusted to return to its original state.

I'm being watched but my mate's scent is too familiar to me now to cause alarm. He brushes against my shield, I let him in.

_You're learning fast._

_Is that a problem?_

_No far from it._ He considers me. _Summer, Winter, Day and Night_ , counting off what he has seen so far. _What else can you do?_

I raise my hands and between them conjure sparks and embers that grow into a rotating ball of fire threads. Like a cat with a ball of wool, I pull at the threads with small movements of my fingers, dragging one thread or another away from the rest only to let it spring back a moment later. Then I move my hands closer together, squashing the ball of fire and, finally, snuffing it out altogether.

Rhys smiles. _I love you._ I examine his expression, searching for signs of insincerity but, of course, there are none. Rhys doesn't resent my abilities, he accepts me as I am. _You're a marvel but you still need training._

I am slightly irked by this assessment. _Everything I try just works._

_For now. But so much magical power left untrained is a danger._

_Will you_ _teach me?_

_Yes, among others._

_Who?_ I ask quickly. 

He sends me an image of Red and Blue. _Cassian and Azriel_ , he corrects patiently.

I chew on the inside of my lip. _What will they teach me?_

_Cass will teach you how to use your body. You have the muscle strength of a human but the potential of a High Fae. Cass can help you reach that potential. He keeps me in shape too, or tries to._

_And… Azriel?_ Even thinking his name is still hard.

 _Az will help you train your mind, he can teach you to think on your feet. To survive._

There is an uncomfortable pause. I move the conversation on, _What will you teach me?_

_To understand your magic, how to feel it and to listen to it. Only then will you be more._

_More?_

_More than all of us. The Cauldron speaks to you for a reason Feyre. I don't doubt that you'll be teaching_ us _soon enough._

His attempt to lighten the mood is appreciated but now I'm stuck with the image of the Cauldron, and the fear linked to it's disembodied voice, spinning round my head. It's enough to make me feel sick. 

Rhys looks at me hard and switches to spoken communication, "I'm not going to make you do any of this. It's your choice and at your pace. Always."

I reach out and tangle my fingers with his. "I know."

**Author's Note:**

> I love hearing how you're feeling, your hopes and predictions and all other comments. This story has been guided by those comments from the beginning. 
> 
> So do let me know what you think :) and thanks for reading.  
> Etta x


End file.
